Dragon Age: Chains of the Past
by dominicgrim
Summary: Young apostate turned mercenary Malcolm Hawke finds adventure, friendship, love, and betrayal in the City of Chains. Bioware owns all. Violence, harsh language and adult situations. Malcolm Leandra. Teen later mature Review please
1. Prologue: In the Beginning an End

Prologue: In the Beginning an End.

The man fell to the ground, his daggers clattered free of his nerveless hands. Above him, her beautiful blue eye stared down at him, but where there was once friendship and caring now there was only scorn and pity.

He tried to explain. Maker, they had to understand, they had to. He had done only what was expected of him it was his duty. Yet all of that seemed to be an empty purse now.

He was dying.

Not that that really mattered so much, in truth he had died twenty years ago.

His friends were upon him now, their eyes staring into his from new bodies. Eyes of honey brown and eyes of sky blue, they went through his pockets taking anything of value that they could use in the battle ahead. He did not blame them. They did not even look at him. To them he was already dead. He clung to life with every fiber of his being, but soon even that would not be enough.

He had never met their children before. In a better place, they may have seen him as an uncle, or at the very least someone to teach them the things they needed to know about the world. He would have enjoyed that, to pass his secrets on to another generation. Obligation and duty had prevented him from ever finding a family of his own. He regretted that for the first time. He wished he could have had his friends back, to see their love grow, and watch over their children

He had thrown away that right years ago.

The darkness closed in on him now. From far away he could hear voices, the clash of steel, and the crackle of magic. The battle had begun.

He wondered if they would have forgiven him. Could he have stood before them a penitent sinner, and begged them to grant him absolution for what he had done all those years ago. He had betrayed a man who had never shown him anything but kindness.

What kind of friend was he?

Fire and ice lick at his failing body, the sound of a dog barking, the twang of a bow, and the mocking laughter of a monster.

This battle was a long time coming. For twenty eight years he had to live with the choices he had made. Now they had returned to haunt him. The sins of the Father visited on the children.

He was finally fading away, but in that last moment, what had come before returned with crystal clarity. His friends, their enemies, his mistakes, in the last few moments of his life it all became clear.

The dying man remembered.


	2. Dragons in the Mist

_Most of the background here I got from reading the DA 2 codex. Something's I have taken liberties with hope you enjoy _

Chapter 1

Dragons in the Mist

9:07 Dragon Age

A small transport vessel cut quickly across the Waking Sea, its white sails barely visible through the heavy fog. On its decks a dozen well-armed men kept watch for any sign of trouble. Mornings like this were perfect cover for raiders. A ship could slip up alongside another with barely a whisper of warning, and by the time the crew realized what happened it was already too late.

Not that the transport was defenseless however, the Crimson Oars mercenary company was by far no easy target. Oars consisted of brave men and women all over Thedas, all with the same common goal.

To live fast, get rich, and possibly die young.

At the helm of the vessel Captain Kendals, the Oars current commander conferred quietly with their newest recruit. Kendals was Rivani by birth, with mocha colored skin and dark unruly hair. A skilled knife fighter in her native country, she had risen quickly through the Oars ranks by being both efficient and brutal. She was a woman of few weaknesses. Her most telling one was a soft spot for new recruits. She typically spent a lot of time with the new fish, as she liked to call them; passing on whatever experience and wisdom she had gained in a life fighting across Thedas.

The boy currently standing next to her was her newest recruit.

"Keep a steady eye Mal," she reminded him, "our destination is out there somewhere.

Malcolm Hawke nodded smartly to his commanding officer. He had only been with the Crimson Oars less than a month since he left his home in Ferelden.

Not that left was an appropriate word for what had happened. It was more like fled as soon as he was certain to free himself.

It seemed so strange to be out here, the smell of the sea so different from the stagnant lake water smell of Kinloch Hold. Having no memory of his real family, it was not surprising that Malcolm had chosen a life outside his homeland, a life far from the Templar's shadow. The men and women around him were as varied as the day was long, nothing like the mages, Templars, and priests that had defined much of his childhood. Archers from Antiva mingled with pike men from Orlais; there were even a few Ferelden dog wranglers here with their Mabari war hounds in tow. The Crimson Oars were a truly diverse group, a group in which the eighteen year old boy now found himself a member. Of course only Captain Kendals knew the whole truth about him.

Malcolm Hawke was a mage.

Not that he looked the part, his apprentice robes were long gone, burned in a garbage pile outside Amaranthine. In the tower he had been known as something of a scholar, though broad shouldered with the potential of being strong, it seemed that potential is all he would ever have. Malcolm had been a bit of a wall flower, the boy who did not get out much, preferring the company of a good book over physical exertion, a slim layer of fat coating his arms and belly.

"You're not gonna last long in the Oars looking like a sodding academic lad," Kendals had said appraisingly during their first meeting, "We're gonna have to do something about that."

A month of hard combat training, fasting, and daily exercise had transformed the thin untested scholar, into an athletic looking young soldier out on his first campaign.

Malcolm had been shocked the first time he had seen himself in the mirror two days ago. He did not even look like himself anymore.

_I wonder if First Enchanter Remille would even recognize me now_. The young apostate thought, _probably not_.

Mal found himself glancing out into the dense fog. Barely restrained excitement pulling at his stomach, a whole new life was starting for him, a life away from the chantry and its rules. Somewhere out there the city of Kirkwall was waiting.

He found himself looking at his commanding officer, Kendals was pretty, not that Mal was lusting after her, oh no, he liked his balls right where they were than you. He found that he was grateful to her. The captain could have decided that it was too much trouble to bring an apostate along on this voyage, even with his skills in the healing arts. She could even have sold him to the Templars had the mood of struck her, but she didn't.

_You put in a hard day's work like any other good soldier lad, and I promise we will keep you safe_.

"What's Kirkwall like Captain?" he asked her.

"She is a land of opportunity Mal," the woman said excitedly, "Since they kicked out the Orlesians seven years ago the whole Free Marches are now up for grabs. Kirkwall is ruled by a bird named Chivalry Threnhold. Since coming to power Viscount Threnhold has opened the flood gates for freelancers like us. The White Falcons, The Red Iron, The Flint company boys everyone is looking to cut themselves a peace of fair Kirkwall."

Mal gave her a puzzled look, "Is this Viscount a good ruler?" he asked.

"The man is a thug," she chuckled, "He rules through fear and intimidation, but he has very deep pockets, and a long list of enemies. Threnhold is the kind of man who can use people like us."

_People like us_? Mal never saw himself as someone who took advantage of other people's problems. He could not say that he like the idea of working for someone who did.

"We play are card right here Mal, we may be on the ground floor of something big. All of the Free Marches are still weak from pushing the Orlesians out. Now, we have Kirkwall building up an army of mercenaries. Who could say, two years from now we may be serving the sodding King of the Free Marches!"

An officer in a new nation's army, Malcolm supposed he could get behind that.

_As long as the Templars don't get me first!_

"Land Ho!"

All the oars crowded the main deck eager to get a look at their new home.

From the mist the heads of seven giant dragons emerged. The massive beasts were great bronze statues anchored into the black rocky cliffs of Kirkwall itself, built to honor the old gods of the Tevinter imperium almost a millennia ago.

Malcolm shuddered; time it seemed had not dulled the majesty of the heretical icons.

"She's a beauty isn't she Mal," Kendals grinned confidently, "Like a maiden ready for her first time, just waiting for us to plant our seed!"

"Not that I would know anything about that kind of thing." Malcolm blushed.

Great lights on the shore penetrated the mists. Sailing between the great black cliffs the Oars vessel passed under two other wonders, all eyes were drawn to the twins, two great statues bound in chains. It was said these chains could be drawn to close the harbor to all traffic. To control the twins was to control Kirkwall.

_All in tribute to my magical forebears_, Malcolm thought glumly, _and the reasons all mages are now treated like slaves._

Kirkwall harbor was packed with vessels of all shape and kind, and almost all of them were armed. Ballista's rose from their decks. The flags of over a dozen different mercenary bands fluttered in the morning breeze. Slowly the sun began to burn through the fog, illuminating the massive towers of the Gallows on the shore. Its white walls blazed blood red in the rising sun.

_The center of Templar power in the eastern nations_, Malcolm remembered from his studies, _once a prison for slaves, now a Circle of Magi. _

_So it is still a prison._

Mal shook his head; he had not nearly drowned and froze to death just to be locked up in some prison across the sea. If he was going to survive here, he would have to be cunning. No magic unless it was absolutely necessary. He would also have to get better with the pole arm weapon Kendals' had gifted him. He knew a few combat spells, but he was far from a master enchanter. Maker help him, even the thought of going through the harrowing made him cringe.

Malcolm Hawke was no coward, but he knew when to cut his losses when the situation called for it.

_Survival must come first._

The Oar's vessel sailed past the Gallows on its way to the Lowtown docks. It wouldn't be easy, but as long as he kept his head down and avoided any unnecessary attention, Mal was sure that he could build a life here.

A life beyond anything he could have expected.

_Well I got Mal into Kirkwall! Next we shall meet the woman who will change his life! Reviews are appreciated!_


	3. Day in Court

Chapter 2

A Day in Court

In the years following the end of Orlesian rule in the city of Kirkwall, it was said that all those who either held power, or desired it, were all drawn to Viscount's court. It was here that Chivalry Threnhold and his heir Perrin held the power of life and death in their fair city.

To those in power it was the place to be seen, the pinnacle of wealth and prestige. To those without power it was a nest of villainy where the wealthy traded coin and flesh for favors. It was a place of bribery, graft, and unchecked ambition. No lord or lady in Kirkwall could afford not to attend court lest their enemies convince the Viscount that Kirkwall would be a better place without them in it.

It was into this arena that a week after their arrival that the Crimson Oars were thrust into. Leaving their dockside warehouse home, a small party of the Oars, including Captain Kendal as well as Malcolm Hawke, found themselves climbing the great staircases of the city all the way to the Keep on The Viscount's Way.

Hightown was nothing like anything that young Malcolm had ever seen. It was a land of wealth and splendor. Lords and Ladies with their servants and body guards prowled the market district in small groups, while elven runners' ferried messages back and forth. There were several Templars in the crowd as well, but all their attention seemed to be drawn to the other heavily armed mercenary bands. To them, the Oars must seem to be an unorganized collection of rabble, completely beneath their notice.

_Thank the Maker for that,_ Mal thought to himself.

By the time they had arrived court was already in session. Noble's waited patiently while the Viscount dealt with the business of running their city, waiting for him to address their needs.

Viscount Threnhold sat on an elaborate throne at the end of the great hall. He was a short, balding, mean spirited man, with beady eyes and a cruel nervous smirk. His son Perrin was a bit taller than his father, but shared the same dark oily hair. Though the Viscount's son held no official title in the city, his father had agreed some time ago to allow his son indirect command of the city guard. The guard Captain answered to Perrin and no one else, and Perrin would then report to his father. Now all the bribes given to the guard ended up at least partially in the younger Threnhold's coffers. It was a compromise of sorts; the father took a cut from the independent mercenary groups, while the son drew from the guard captain's bribes and protection rackets.

Malcolm was trying to not fall asleep while the Oars waited to be addressed by the Viscount. His eyes wandered over the various nobles, merchants, and mercenaries that made up the Viscount's court. There was even a single Templar standing among the group of petitioners. Malcolm went out of his way not to make eye contact.

He was about to whisper to Kendals about how long this was supposed to take, when out of the blue his whole world changed.

That is when he saw her.

IOI

_Earlier that day:_

"Shouldn't Gamlen come with us as well Father?"

Lord Fausten Amell gave his eldest child a long suffering sigh, "If your brother wishes you to rule our family when you're Mother and I are gone. Then I suspect he will continue to ignore my summons. For now, duty demands we attend to his Excellency at the keep."

"Yes Father," his daughter agreed submissively.

Fausten could not help but smile. Leandra, his beloved little girl, though at seventeen it was clear the he would not be able to call her that much longer. Like most of their family, young Leandra possessed the same sky blue eyes common on his side of the family. Her black hair was long and lustrous, tumbling gently to the small of her back. She had also grown into quite the beauty. Not that her Father saw such a thing, no, she would always be his little girl in pigtails. His little scholar, the one he showed off to his brothers and their families at all the Amell functions. He loved Gamlen too, of course, but his little Lea would always hold a sacred place in his heart.

_And to save our family, I must sell her like a common brood mare. _

Given the troubles their family had had in the last few years it was not surprising that the Amells would have to turn to the other noble houses for help. Much had been spent in the last ten years in trying to end the rivalry between House Amell and House Dumar. When young Marlowe took control of house Dumar last year, he had immediately sued for peace with Fausten's older brother Aristide. It seemed that the old wars were over; the Amells had hoped that things could only get better.

Then the trouble with his brothers began.

His older brother Aristide, who had had to step down as Lord Amell, was in seclusion following the birth of his first child with his new wife, the mage child. Then there was poor Damion, Aristide had nearly bankrupt their family defending their little brother from smuggling charges. Fausten, now Lord Amell was left with the job of trying to restore their family's glory. Once they had been one of the wealthiest Families in Kirkwall, but that had gone with a series of bad investments and poor lawyering.

Leandra could change all that, Guillaume, the future Comte DeLauncet, had asked for her hand in marriage. Well his father had asked on the boy's behalf. The marriage would bring about a new alliance. DeLauncet coin would revitalize the weakened Amell family. The Amells would be rescued from obscurity while the DeLauncet's would gain great prestige. Everyone would be happy.

_Except his beautiful daughter_, Lord Fausten thought.

For her part Leandra remained stoic. She knew her place, and accepts that this was necessary for the survival of the family.

_In a perfect world I would wish only happiness for my little girl, but our world is far from perfect._

Kissing her mother good bye, Leandra now dressed in her court finest joined her Father outside their estate in Hightown, and together, along with father's two body guards made their way to the Viscount's Keep.

Upon entering they found that the Keep was more packed than usual, several new mercenary companies had arrived in the city it seemed. The various groups glared at one another as city guardsmen endeavored to keep the weapons sheathed. Fausten immediately regretting his Leandra in here, he had always attempted to shield his children from the dark realities of modern Kirkwall.

_Not that Threnhold doesn't enjoy putting them on display_.

They finally managed to secure a spot nearby a very uncomfortable and bored looking young Templar. Noticing their noble dress, the man scooted over to allow Leandra to stay close to her Father while at the same time shielded the young girl from the ruffians standing behind her, men who would likely not think twice of grabbing a young girl in an inappropriate manner.

Fausten smiled at the boy, "My thanks Serah …"

"Carver, your lordship," the Templar said politely, flashing a roguish smile "Ser Morivar Carver, have no fear, I'll make sure these louts stay back. That way the only one you have to worry about is me."

Lord Fausten laughed at the young man's comment. Leandra nodded politely, but said nothing.

Ser Carver returned to watching the troublemakers prance in front of the Viscount and his thug of a son. He really did not understand how Stannard could do this day after day, but then he had given up trying to understand Ser Meredith a long time ago.

IOI

The Gallows: Templar Quarters

Yesterday evening.

"Shouldn't you be preparing for tomorrow Carver?"

Ser Mori looked up from his cards and smiled sweetly at his sister Templar. Ser Meredith was in the middle of finishing up her punishment. Yesterday one of the recruits had grabbed her behind after beating her in the training ring. Meredith had decided the best punishment for this offense had been to break not only the offending hand but the boy's jaw as well. Knight-Commander Guylian had not been happy, and so now Meredith found herself not only polishing every sword in the armory, but also barred her from attending the Viscount's court tomorrow.

That task now fell to Ser Mori.

_Maybe she should have just polished Guylian sword?_ Mori thought crudely, _Might have escaped punishment all together_.

"Funny, I wasn't aware my mother had joined the Templars," he replied, the mage and two Templar recruits at his card table chuckled.

Meredith held the sword up to the light admiring its shine "I believe you have a date with the Viscount tomorrow don't you Carver?"

He flashed a roguish grin, "I would much rather be dating you Stannard."

The young woman froze. Her cold icy stare of doom fell upon him. Carver did his best not to flinch. Meredith was a woman with a long memory, insult her and she would remember it forever. Mori's comment had been only in jest of course. Yet, Meredith never seemed to understand that, she remained the same impenetrable ice queen.

_One day I'm going to crack that shell_, he promised himself; _one day I will make her smile_.

Finally she responded.

"I would sooner let a mage touch me Ser Morivar."

Mori chuckled, "Hear that Tobey," he said to the mage sitting next to him, "I think you got a shot with Stannard here."

Tobrius, a member of the loyalist fraternity shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, "You shouldn't antagonize your fellows Ser Morivar," the Mage said nervously, "it can only lead to trouble."

Mori liked Tobrius. He understood the reasons why the Templar order acted the way it did, but at the same time was willing to let his hair down a little when he was with the free-spirited Ser Carver.

_Maybe Tobey just needs a good tumble. Maybe Meredith would help with that_.

Though the rumor was that Meredith was already taken, she had volunteered every week to attend the Viscount's functions without fail. Mori had heard that the reason for that was that Stannard had taken up with one of the noblemen in the Viscount's court, no one could prove it, but the rumor was still there.

Ser Mori had a hard time believing it though. Stannard's devotion to the order was without question. She seemed too cold to engage in an illicit affair.

Mori teased her sure, but he also respected her. She had all the strength and devotion to be a great Templar. Now she just needed to temper that with mercy. Devotion without mercy could easily turn into fanaticism. Mori hoped the beautiful blonde Stannard did not fall into that trap.

_Either that or he just wanted to get into her small clothes_.

Growling Meredith left to get another handful of swords from the armory. Mori watched her leave chuckling to himself.

It had been a good night. He had left with not only the two recruit's stipends for the week, but also half of the allowance Tobey was allowed. He had promised himself a drink at _the Hanged Man_ later. First he had to navigate the pit of vipers that called the Viscount's court. He recognized Lord Amell and his daughter from his patrols in Hightown. They were decent folks as far as nobles went.

Mori prayed to the Maker that he would not be too bored, as the nobles began their business day.

Between Viscount Threnhold and Malcolm Hawke it most definitely wasn't.


	4. The duel

Chapter 3

A duel

_This is insane_.

The thought looped through Mal's head as he circled the city guardsman. His pole arm drawn, spinning lazily as he prepared to block the man's attack. Only a moment ago he had been standing behind Kendals, imagining how bored he was, now …

She shot him an approving look, she had faith in him, and she had trained him well.

_Maker help me, this place is insane!_

"I have a task that needs completing," the Viscount had said only a few minutes before, "but I need to know if you and your men are right for this job."

"The Crimson Oars are always ready your Excellency," Kendals had said proudly, "all we ask is a chance to prove ourselves."

"Prove yourselves, hm." The Viscount said idly rubbing his chin; Mal could almost hear the gears in then man's thuggish brain grinding. His son leaned over and whispered something in his Father's ear. The Viscount smiled, he seemed pleased by his son's suggestion. Mal wondered what such a man would want of his hirelings.

_Nothing good, I suppose._

"We have decided," the Viscount said regally, "this office asks much of those who serve it. So we require a demonstration of your skills. So, one of your men, chosen by me, shall duel one of my city guardsmen."

The crowd in the chamber, the nobles, and merchants, murmured in shock. The other mercenary groups whispered excitedly. Perhaps court would not be so boring today after all.

"If your man acquits himself well Serah Kendals, you may operate in my city as you see fit."

"Agreed, your Excellency," Kendals smiled broadly, she knew her men's skills. They were clearly the equal of any city guardsman.

"We shall see," the Viscount nodded, he looked then over the company of men behind her, trying to find the perfect champion for the Oars. Finally his eyes came to rest on Malcolm.

"You lad." He said pointing, "The one with the spear, yes you should do nicely."

Mal was shocked.

"The perfect choice Messere," Kendals said motioning Malcolm to step forward, the boy came up from behind her, trying to hide the nervous that had sprung up in his gut like angry bees.

"Don't kick his ass too hard Mal." Kendals whispered as he passed her, "We don't want to show up and piss off any of the other groups."

Mal nodded, hoping he was not about to drown in nervous sweat. Kendals believed in him, now he had to believe in himself.

The city guardsmen that stepped up for the Viscount was a tall brooding man, his polished heavy armor glistened in the sunlight streaming through the chambers. He drew his sword swinging it in a lazy arc; a cruel hungry smile split the man's lips.

You can do this. Mal repeated in his head, just put on a good show for the nobles.

The men circled, both looking for any sign of weakness. Silence fell over the hall; the air in the chamber was pregnant with anticipation.

"Let's make this more interesting Father." Perrin Threnhold spoke up breaking the spell. He leaned in and whispered to his Father again. The Viscount's eyes flashed hungrily. His son's idea appealed to him greatly.

Mal shot a glance in Kendals direction; she shrugged, but looked concerned.

"My son makes an excellent suggestion," the Viscount announced proudly rising from the throne. "Guardsman, young man," he said addressing the two combatants, a cruel sneer on his face.

"To the death." The Viscount announced proudly.

The guardsman grinned hungrily.

_What!_

The guardsman attacked.

IOI

Leandra found her eyes drawn to the young man the Viscount had chosen. His skin was tanned, far darker than any Kirkwaller. Though broad shouldered, he moved with a carefulness that didn't fit with his clearly powerful frame. His short dark brown hair was curly to the point of being almost unruly. Intelligence burned in his brown eyes, he regarded the room with a trepidation that she could clearly understand. Clad in trousers and a splintmail shirt the boy hardly seemed a match for a guardsman of fair Kirkwall.

He glanced at her once sending a brief shock of lightning down her spine. She diverted her eyes. Maker where did that come from she thought.

"To the death," the Viscount proclaimed.

The battle was joined.

Leandra could not believe what she had just heard. To the death? Impossible.

"Father?" she whispered tugging on his sleeve, "surely the Viscount doesn't intend …"

"Hush Leandra." Her father hissed, not waiting to show any dissension in front of Kirkwall's ruler.

Ser Carver, still standing behind her, glared at the Viscount and his son, his feelings on this matter clear in his dark eyes.

The boy spun his staff retreating as the guardsman charged. The bladed tip of the pole arm glancing off the shield in the guardsman's hand. Then the boy counter attacked his movements fast and graceful. Leandra found herself entranced. The young man's agility, his speed, she did not know someone could move like this.

Around her nobles gasped in shock. She thought she heard Lord Rhinehart bet Lord Harriman that the boy would not last another minute. The thought appalled her. On the opposite side of the room Mercenaries cheered and jeered at both combatants.

Leandra barely stopped herself from crying out in support of the brave young man.

He drove the guardsman back. He paused and reached up with his free hand starting to gesture, why?

He stopped himself as the guard roared a challenge and charged again. The guard's blade sliced a small cut on the boy's shoulder, he hissed in pain.

Leandra gasped, her hand coming to her mouth.

The battle continued.

IOI

_Stupid,_ Mal cursed himself.

He had almost cast a mind blast spell, a sodding mind blast in front of a sodding Templar. Did he want to be sent to the Gallows! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

When he hesitated the guard had taken full advantage. He was bleeding now, his arm burned. He parried the guard's latest strike and pushed back.

Kendals watched him, a worried look on her brow, all bravado gone. Did she feel responsible for this, knowing he was about to die to impress some fool noble.

_You're not dead yet! Focus_!

Mal fell back again; he was trying to exhaust the more heavily armored man. He carried a lot more weight than Mal did. Viscount Threnhold watched the battle with barely restrained animal pleasure. So sure in his superiority, so smug.

"_Let's do something about that,"_ a seductive voice murmured in the back of his mind, "You are going to die, _let me in_."

Mal ignored the whispers, not today demon, he hissed to himself, never!

Fury blossomed in Malcolm's breast, uncertainty withered before his anger; with a feral snarl he launched a renewed attack. The guard tried to fall back, but Mal was too quick. He fell back into the familiar sequences of his circle training. Every feint, every thrust, every parry designed to set an opponent up for a deadly magical strike. A strike that would not come, because it wasn't needed. He flew from sequence to sequence, too fast to track, too fast to adapt.

His mentor, Enchanter Irving would have been proud.

In that moment Malcolm Hawke decided something.

He decided he wanted to win.

The guard deserved to lose his shield, so Mal took it from him. He decided he deserved to lose his sword so Mal took that too. Two quick spins of his staff and the guard was disarmed. He drove the non-bladed end deep into the man's gut. Air whooshed from the man's lungs. Then with a graceful overhead spin he cracked the guard across the helmeted temple, hardened wood actually dented the man's helm. The guard spun and fell. Mal now stood over him, panting from excitement and exhaustion.

The blade tip pressed against the guardsman's tender throat.

"Finish the game!"

Mal glared hatefully up at Perrin Threnhold, the tyrant's son's eyes were wild with excitement. Anticipating the kill to come.

The kill.

Malcolm Hawke had never killed anyone before.

Never.

No.

Malcolm stepped back, the blade falling away from the guard's throat, the man regarded him with shock, and maybe … contempt.

"What are you doing lad?" the Viscount asked, "Finish him."

Malcolm glared defiantly; he would not kill this man simply to feed one man's pride.

"Your Excellency," he said coldly his voice finding strength with every moment more, "this man was willing to die for you here. Such a man should not be wasted, I return his life to you Messere. So that he may continue to serve fair Kirkwall. A gift, your Excellency, to honor your greatness. A gift given freely by the Crimson Oars."

Threnhold tapped his chin thoughtfully, Malcolm stood proudly before him. If this was his last moments he would face it as a man. Kendals and his fellow Oars sided up beside him. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. As always, it seemed, the Oars would stand together.

The Viscount regarded them coldly. It wasn't hard to imagine him ordering them out of the city, or worse executed. If he did however, he would find the Crimson Oars no easy prey.

Surprisingly, the Viscount broke into amused laughter.

'What is your name Lad?' he chuckled.

"Hawke Messere, Malcolm Hawke."

"Serah Hawke," the Viscount said thoughtfully, "We will remember your name." the Viscount nodded, then turning to Kendals. "Serah Kendals, I will have work for you and your men soon. Please, pay the Seneschal a visit tomorrow morning."

"Th-Thank you your Excellency." She replied offering him a quick nervous bow.

Nodding the Viscount turned to his bodyguards and bade them follow him out of the chamber apparently court was done for the day.

Mal was immediately set upon by his fellow Oars, pats on the back and congratulations spilled over him. Behind him the guard he had defeated struggled to his feet. Perrin Threnhold strode coldly over to the man. He glared down at him whispering quietly.

The Oars began to file out of the Viscount's throne room, Mal lagging behind still trying to catch his breath. He had done it. The Oars had earned a spot in Kirkwall, and all because of him. He felt a swell of pride as he started to follow his fellows.

A terrified shriek stopped him.

His response was automatic.

He swung the blade of his staff straight back, it bit deep into something hard; a heavy weight leaned on top of him. He could barely support himself. Something warm dripped down the side of his throat.

The Oars turned weapons drawn. Kendals spun her daggers ready.

Mal jerked his staff forward a wet slishing sound came as the blade withdrew its shiny surface stained red.

Mal glanced down.

It was the guardsman he had defeated. He struggled weakly as life ran from his body. A wicked looking dagger still gripped in his fist. He glanced helplessly at the Viscount's son, the young man simply shrugged; all light quickly left the guardsman's eyes as he slumped back. Perrin Threnhold turned to follow his retreating Father.

Kendals glared fiercely at the retreating noble. What was he trying to prove, the fight had been over. Wasteful.

Mal glanced down at the dead guardsman.

It did not have to be this way. It didn't.

Kendals put a reassuring hand on her newest recruits shoulder, "You okay Mal?"

No he wasn't, but he nodded anyway.

She took him gently by the hand and led him out of the chamber.

No he wasn't alright, not at all.

IOI

The shriek had come unbidden.

Leandra had seen the dagger in the guard hand. The fury in his eyes for being embarrassed by the young boy.

_No! You will not harm him!_

She cried out, the boy reacted, the guardsman fell.

The boy stood there now standing over the body, his eyes pained. He glanced up looking for the one who had warned him, who had saved him.

Their eyes met.

So much passed between them in that moment, thanks, regret, curiosity, fear, and below it all a sense of heat. A nervous flutter began in both of their stomachs without either of them really understanding why.

Then it was over.

The boy, Hawke she believe his name was, left the chamber, leaving Leandra alone.

"Are you all right dear?"

Her Father's voice penetrated the swirling emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Breathlessly she nodded to her Father, heat suffusing her cheeks. She nodded.

"Come now," he said taking her by the arm, "I think you have had enough excitement for one day."

She nodded, following him stiffly, mechanically, Hawke she thought, what an interesting name.

_Hawke_.

IOI

She wasn't the only one who was interested in the young mercenary that day.

Ser Morivar Carver stayed behind, processing what he had seen. A thoughtful expression on his face.

Not bad, he thought to himself, boy can fight pretty good … for a mage.

Mori knew he was a mage, the way the young man handled that pole arm was a dead giveaway. He had seen those moves hundreds of times in the Gallows. Young apprentices were drilled with them until they became second nature.

Yet he never used magic, not once, hm, interesting.

Mori knew that he should report this. The Templars knew that most of the mercenary companies kept their own mages, but as long as they caused no trouble these mages were usually ignored. Stannard bitched continuously to the Knight-Commander about the practice, but for the most part she was ignored.

It was his duty to follow up on any suspected Apostates, but at the same time Mori felt a great deal of respect for the young mercenary. Magic could have ended the duel in moments, but the boy had chosen to fight man to man, once again, interesting.

It was in that moment that he decided to follow up on young Malcolm Hawke. He would ask around Lowtown about where the Crimson Oars had set up their base camp. Someone there would be sure to know.

Then, when all was settled, he intended to meet with this Serah Hawke.

He found himself looking forward to that meeting.


	5. Dinner Conversations

_I'm going to try to take Mal and Leandra's relationship a little slow. There will be mooning though sorry if that bothers anyone._ "Chuckles_" Here is the next chapter: Enjoy!_

Chapter Four

Dinner Conversations

_The Hanged Man_: Three days later

If the Viscount's Keep was Kirkwall's shining light, then _the Hanged Man_ was its darkest soul. Since the beginning of the Orlesian occupation, the dingy little tavern had been a place of shadows and skullduggery. Many dark deals had been sealed inside its walls. The rise of the Threnholds had not changed that fact.

The people that came to _the Hanged Man_ these days did so because they did not feel like paying the Viscount's bribes when conducting illicit business. It was unclear how the tavern's mysterious owners kept the Viscount's men away. Some said that the owner was a beautiful woman who pleasured the Viscount in exchange for their autonomy. Others said that the owners were mages, who used magic to block anyone from asking about _the Hanged Man_ in social circles. One brave soul claimed that the Viscount _was _the owner, so he did not need to tax the tavern's shady clientele. He just took his money right off the top.

Whatever the reason _the Hanged Man_ remained busy. The influx of mercenaries even added to the place's already dark mystique.

It was the one reason that a certain hooded young man came to _the Hanged Man_ that day. Of course his business had little to do with personal gain.

This man was charged with protecting all of Thedas.

IOI

The man was on his third bowl of mystery meat stew when the young woman sauntered into tavern. She was far from pretty with her rat's nest of brown hair, and broken nose. Of course the man had not contacted her for her beauty.

He was here on other business.

Noticing him, she moved up next to him, smiling widely, two gold teeth shone in the dim light.

"Looking for company sweetie," she drawled.

"Only if we can do it in the rain." The young man replied.

Her smile widened, recognizing the code phrase. She sat down across from the young man.

"Greetings from the coterie," she said warmly, "I understand you have need of us."

The man nodded, "I require the services of a mage."

"Ask the Circle." The woman replied.

"What we require the mage for is not exactly in accordance with Chantry law."

The coterie woman considered that, "the price will be high then."

"I have gold."

"It is not just about the money," the woman said seriously, "Templars are kinda touchy here when it comes to illegal magics. We start trading in such things. They come down on us."

"You will receive a generous finder's fee." The hooded man said glancing around the room, "however, it is possible that the mage will not return, once the job is done."

The coterie woman hissed.

"Not many mages interested in going on a suicide run fella."

"Then I suggest not telling them." The hooded man hissed back, "What will be done is necessary. All I can suggest is that you take your money, and keep your questions to yourselves."

The coterie looked a little insulted at the young man's harsh demeanor, but she had been paid well to set up this meeting. She could not turn her back on it now.

"Half up front," she said coolly, "the other half once we deliver the mage to you."

The man nodded, "my employer will find that acceptable, how long until we can expect delivery?'

"Couple of days," the woman shrugged, "maybe a week." She raised her hand before the hooded man could protest, "you're not asking for anything easy friend. We will get you your robe. We just need time to secure him, or her."

The hooded man did not like it. There were likely still warrants out against him in Kirkwall, even if that had been almost ten years ago. He did not want to stay in this city any longer than he had to.

"Fine," he growled, "one week, but I expect an update as soon as you have a line on my merchandise."

"Agreed," the coterie said shaking the man's hand, "I will be back in two day for the first half of our payment. I suggest you have it ready by then."

The man nodded. The coterie woman smiled, "A pleasure doing business with you Serah?"

"Grey." The man said quietly.

"Serah Grey, you will have your merchandise, before the week is out. The coterie is well known for its fair business practices."

"I'm certain it is." Grey said drily.

The coterie woman left. Grey was not entirely pleased with the deal, but he understood what was being asked of him.

The mage is needed. Without this mage, this sacrifice, all of Thedas would be put at risk.

One life versus the whole world, Grey could live with that.

Now all he had to do was contact the Commander to secure the coterie's payment. Once this was done, he could get out of here.

Grey had never liked Kirkwall, this business had done little to endear to him either, but it had to be done.

It was his duty.

IOI

Hightown: the same day

The Amell family Estate

"I wish I could have been there Father." Gamlen Amell told Fausten excitedly, "a fight to the death in the keep, glorious."

Lord Fausten frowned at his young son, as usual, Gamlen was missing the point

"There was nothing glorious about that Gamlen." Lady Amell said shaking her head, "The Viscount should be ashamed of himself."

The Amell family had all settle down to dinner. As was traditional of late only Lord Amell, his wife, and two children were present. Poor Aristide and Revka had been invited, but as always they chose to remain in seclusion. The loss of their beloved baby to the circle had hit them both hard.

Word of what had happened in the Viscount's keep had spread like wild fire. Everyone was talking about that young mercenary boy killing one of the Viscount's men. Each time the story was told it was becoming more and more outlandish, but Threnhold's point was clear.

All life in Kirkwall belonged to him and his son. Period.

Leandra sat quietly picking over her food. Her Father feared that the shock of what she had seen that day had made his little girl sick, but it just wasn't that simple.

That poor boy's stricken face kept rising up into her mind. Those brown eyes tinged with shock and regret. Leandra found herself praying that she never had to make such a choice.

"Lea, are you alright dear?"

The girl nodded managing a weak smile, simply for Father's benefit.

"You should have been there Gamlen," her Father said sternly, "I know you may find politics boring, but we are trying to save our family here. Your time would be better spent on that rather than searching for some legend."

"The gem of Karoshek is real Father," Gamlen insisted, "once I find it, we won't need to marry Leandra off."

"Gamlen!" His Mother's voice was a whip crack making the sixteen year old boy cringe.

"We are doing this for your sister's benefit Gamlen." his Father said, trying to convince the boy almost as much as himself, "Guillaume is a good lad and will take good care of your sister."

Leandra tried to ignore these discussions. She was an Amell after all, her duty was clear. Young DeLauncet was a good boy, but she had heard how he had been seen stepping out with her friend Dulci just a week ago. She understood the concept of marriage as a political alliance, but the thought of being in a marriage where the best she could hope for was mere affection at best, tolerance at worse, the thought almost made her cry.

"I understand this Gamlen," she said looking into her beloved little brother's eyes, "you should to."

Gamlen harrumphed; clearly his feelings on the matter were not so positive.

"And what of you Gamlen," Leandra asked, "any young ladies caught your eye?"

"I..." Gamlen turned scarlet; Leandra knew her brother had been sending letter s to a young woman who worked in Lowtown. Mara her name was. Father would likely not approve, but Leandra was glad that her little brother had found some companionship. Most of the noble women in Kirkwall saw her little brother as something of a joke, with his dreams of finding some legendary treasure.

"Not yet sister," he replied, hoping his parents would not notice the color of his cheeks.

"You know Fausten," his Mother said warmly, "perhaps we can speak to Lord Harriman, his daughter Johain is about Gamlen's age is she not?"

Gamlen nearly choked on his greens, Leandra giggled, Johain Harriman was one of the coldest girls in Hightown society. All she thought of was wealth and power, she had been writing to Prince Vael of Starkhaven trying to catch his attention as a possible match for one of his sons. So far she was unsuccessful.

Leandra hoped that Gamlen would find a girl that would love him for who he is, not what he could give her. That was the main reason she had agreed to go along with Father's plans for an alliance with the DeLauncet family. Gamlen deserved better, and by the Maker she would help him find it.

_If that young boy could face death at the hands of one of the Viscount's men,_ she thought, _then I can endure this for Gamlen._

That haunted look in that young boy's eye returned to her mind then, the firm steadiness as he looked at her made her heart flutter nervously, even now.

She wondered what that boy was doing now.

She wondered if she would ever see him again.

IOI

Lowtown: Later that evening

Malcolm Hawke trudged down the streets towards the docks. He had just finished dining with Captain Kendals and the rest of the Oars officers, since his victory in the keep, many of his fellow Oars saw him on the fast track to command himself. Over a dozen offers of work had come the Oars way since that day, and all because of Mal's victory. Kendals was overjoyed

_I wish I could share her enthusiasm_.

The rest of the company had left for evening, a new casino had opened in Hightown, and the Oars were looking to spend their weekly stipend. Some had even headed for the Blooming Rose, One of the Orlesian officers had even offered to pay for Mal's evening, if he wished to go. He had respectfully declined. In his eyes, he had done nothing to warrant celebrating.

Every time he closed his eyes he saw that Guardsman's face, heard the death rattle as he breathed his last.

Mal felt ashamed, it was self-defense sure, but he had never killed anyone before.

How was he supposed to live with this?

Then there was that girl.

Mal could still see the terror in her beautiful eyes. Did she think him a monster for having killed that man? Was she grateful he still lived? Did she even care at all?

Mal had no answers.

It had been easier in the tower. As a mage, he knew what was expected of him. Out here, he was wandering blind. He had hoped the Crimson Oars would give him direction, but even that seemed to be a joke.

_I took a vow,_ he told himself, the same vow every mage takes, _always strive for what is best in me, not which is most base_.

What am I now? It seemed that the Oars were trying to pull him towards the darkness.

He had to find a way around that.

He was so lost in thought that he did not see the man rounding the corner in front of him. This man had just come to the Oars warehouse hoping to speak with their brave duelist. Both men bumped into each other very dramatically. Mal actually knocked the other man down. The man cursed loudly.

"My apologies Serah," Mal said bowing, offering the man a hand up.

""You should really watch … oh!"

Malcolm froze.

The man staring up from the ground at him was a Templar, a man about his age with blonde hair and intense blue eyes.

_Oh shit_!

"Serah Hawke isn't it" the Templar asked.

_Don't panic_, the words screamed loudly in his mind, _Don't Panic!_

"Yes Ser knight," Mal said, trying not to stammer, helping the Templar to his feet, praying that he was not about to be hit with a smite.

"Ser Morivar Carver," the Templar introduced himself smiling, shaking Mal's hand vigorously, "I have been actually hoping to meet you."

Mal tried not to look like a trapped animal.

_Oh Shit._


	6. Those You Choose to Spare

Chapter 5

Whom We Choose To Spare

Her blade rested snugly against the elf's throat. His eyes darted rapidly beneath closed lids, his breathing labored. Ser Meredith Stannard watched the elf closely, her eyes wide and alert, watching for the first sign of corruption, if it should show itself …

Then she would do her duty.

Meredith stood beside Knight-Commander Guylian as the Harrowing proceeded. She preferred to be here, to be the one holding the sword. She knew many Templars were skittish about this duty, but Meredith never faltered. As a Templar it was her duty, her destiny to ensure that no abominations escaped this chamber. She would not fail in this.

_I will remain strong Amelia, for you, our parents, everyone._

She could not imagine her poor Amelia going through such an ordeal, her sister had always been so gentle, so frail. In the end, her gentle nature had destroyed her, along with their parents, and many others, but Meredith did not fault Amelia, oh no, her beautiful little sister was blameless.

_Magic was to blame; it should be burned from the body of every damned soul in Thedas_.

Magic was a sickness on the face of the world. It had enslaved the elves. It had unleashed the blights. It corrupted innocent children and turned them into abominations, and yet those in power still refused to see. From the Divine herself, to the lowest initiate, magic was tolerated, bound to the service of men.

This farce is a mistake; all who wield magic should be purged. If her innocent little Amelia was too weak before its crushing power that no mage could stay free of its corrupted influence forever. It was better that the Templars struck first.

_If only those in power were not so blind. Why could only she see the truth?_

In the end, Meredith realized she could trust no one in this endeavor. If Kirkwall, all of Thedas, was to be saved then it was entirely up to her. If only she could see the danger threatening her home then her duty was clear.

She would have to rule Kirkwall.

The elf gasped, collapsing to the floor of the Harrowing chamber. Knight-Commander Guylian strode forward placing a hand on the young apprentice's forehead. The elf shook from his exposure to the pure lyrium, but beyond that he would be fine in time.

He had passed his Harrowing.

_Damn him!_

Meredith stood stark still, while inside she shook with rage, another damned soul loose in the Gallows. The Makers justice was denied, again.

The Knight-Commander nodded to the First Enchanter. They were so pleased to add another full mage to their care.

_The fools, the blind stupid fools._

"Gentlemen," Knight-Commander Guylian said to the two Templars at the door, "please see young Orsino to the mages quarters."

"Are we so certain commander?" Meredith asked, "Perhaps we should not let this mage go so quickly?"

"The boy has been successful Ser Meredith." Guylian said paternally, "our duty in this matter has been performed."

She watched as the future threat named Orsino was carried from the chamber. It seemed that she was running out of time. Between Threnhold's ambitions, Guylian's blindness, and the corruption that even now grew through the Gallows, it seemed that Kirkwall herself teetered on the edge of a knife.

_I must begin accelerating my plans. Kirkwall can afford no further delays._

"Meredith? Ser Meredith are you well?"

She had not realized that the Knight-Commander was speaking with her.

"I … I am fine Ser," she said coolly,

The older man gave her a sympathetic look. He knew Meredith's history. The loss of her family, how that loss motivated her to be the intense fearless woman who stood before him now. Meredith was a strong soldier of the faith. He knew that he did not want to lose her. She carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. She needed to learn to let that go, lest she be crushed under it.

"Perhaps it would be better if you left the Gallows for the day, my dear. Go and clear your head, a young woman should not spend all her time cooped up in this place."

Meredith did not want to leave. Someone who understood the truth had to be here, but at the same time her plans would wither and die if she did not attend to them, that meant that she had to leave the Gallows. She would inform Karras and Alrik to keep an eye on things for her while she was away. They were two men whom she knew understood the truth about magic.

"I will obey ser." She said, bowing politely.

"Very good, Ser Meredith," he replied, a smile on his face "feel free to enjoy the day; I will see you at muster tomorrow morning."

The young woman nodded, pivoting sharply on her heel she marched from the Harrowing chamber.

She would need to play the good little soldier for a while longer it seemed, but soon she would be able to set events in motion, events that would redraw the map so to speak.

When she was through, all would be for the better.

Kirkwall would never be the same.

IOI

"You still feel bad don't you?"

Malcolm Hawke bowed his head. Ser Mori was surprised how much this one act was bothering the young boy. Yes, he had taken a life, but it had been in self-defense, and you could bet that the City Guard he killed would not be sitting around feeling depressed about his victory.

_This one isn't like other Apostates, he seems loyal to circle ideas, yet he still sought to free himself, why?_

It was an interesting question.

Almost two weeks had passed since their little run-in in the street had occurred. Mori still had not revealed to Malcolm that he knew what he was. He did not see the point. For now they were just two soldiers in Kirkwall, nothing more.

Sitting at a table in _the Hanged Man, _the two young men seemed like any other patrons to the shady establishment. It was not unusual to find a Templar here early in the day. Many of the morning patrols would stop in for a drink when they came off duty. Ser Mori was a regular in fact. This was probably why the clientele chose to continue their dealing despite a servant of the chantry sitting in the corner.

Malcolm had been suspicious at first; Ser Mori was like no other Templar he could remember. He did not swagger around in his superiority; he was not a man who reveled in his power over others. When he spoke of mages there was respect in his voice, the respect a man has for a weapon he has used many times.

Malcolm doubted that Mori did not know what he was, but if the Templar was willing to play this game, then he was willing to play along as well.

The Templar gave him a sympathetic look, "you know I still remember my first kill, a young boy it was. I had been sent to a farm outside the city, I was to bring him back to the Gallows. He was terrified, I tried to assure him that it would be alright, but he would not listen." Mori shifted uncomfortably, taking a large pull on the ale in his hand.

"I take it he resisted?"

"You could say that." Mori frowned, "He burst into flames as the change began, his body stretching, expanding as the creature filled him up. It was the first time I had ever seen an abomination, I pray it is the last."

Malcolm shuddered.

"I had to end it quickly. The boy's mother had been the one to contact us; she came out after the deed was done. She slapped me across the face hard. "Mori said rubbing his cheek, "she called me a murderer and every other name in the book. I can't say I blame her."

"B…but you did your duty?"

"I was an idiot," the Templar admitted, "I could feel the magic swirling uncontrollably around the lad. I should have drained his mana the first time I saw him, but I thought I could talk him down. I failed to act and the boy died. I still see that boys terrified face in my dreams sometimes. Killing is a little like sex in that way, you never forget your first time.

Malcolm blushed a little at the man's comment. Apparently, he had not experienced some firsts yet, Mori thought with a hint of amusement.

"Then you did feel guilty?" Malcolm asked.

"Yeah," the Templar nodded.

"How did you deal with it?"

"I got very drunk that night," He replied with a roguish grin, "and then spent most of the next morning vomiting in the privy. Not my most shining moment to be sure."

Despite everything Mal actually chuckled at the Templar's comment.

"So you came to terms with what you did?"

"I accept I did what needed to be done. If I had not acted, that abomination would have done Maker knows what to me, that boy's mother, and many others. It was not pleasant, but it was necessary. Just like when you killed that guard in the Keep. He would have happily killed you and bragged to his mates about it later, maybe even got a little reward from Threnhold for doing it too. You did nothing wrong Mal, you chose to live, the only one at fault here is the guard for not stopping when you offered him mercy."

Malcolm nodded; he could see Ser Mori's point. Kendals and the others had not really been able to help him here. They simply saw success in his survival; they had not seen how the man's death had been eating at the young apostate. Ser Morivar Carver had. He did not try to pat Mal on the back, and tell him how good he was, he simply reminded him that sometimes good people have to do bad things. It was forgiveness of a sort, a forgiveness that Mal had not even realized he needed.

_A mage needing forgiveness from a Templar, how ironic_, Mal thought with a slight smile.

"Well I have to report back to the Gallows," Mori said rising from his chair slipping a few coins on to the table, "remember what I said Mal. When you draw your weapon don't think about what you must kill, think only about what you chose to let live, both choices have consequences for good or ill, remember that."

The Templar left then, leaving Mal to his thoughts, Kendals came in a little while later, seeing her fellow Oar she ordered a drink and sat down beside him. Malcolm seemed more relaxed now, maybe for the first time in days.

"You okay?" she asked.

The boy nodded.

"Good because we got work to do." She said downing her pint in almost a single gulp, "Viscount has a nest of rats he needs cleared out on the wounded coast, looks like coterie, you up for a little of the old violence Mal?"

_Think only of those you choose to spare._

He nodded grimly, "Ready when you are Captain."

"Good," she said smiling, happy to see the fire in the boy's eyes, "we head out tomorrow, so be ready."

Malcolm Hawke nodded; it was time to get back to work.


	7. You Don't Get What You Pay For

Chapter 6

You Won't get what you Paid For

"Down!"

A wave of frigid light washed over the Oars in the front of the group, where men once stood only frozen bodies remained. Kendal's flipped back barely avoiding being frozen herself.

_The sodding bastards have a mage,_ she thought.

The coterie nest was larger than what the Viscount had warned them it would be, over thirty heavily armed cutthroats, with at least one mage in reserve. The Crimson Oars had managed to breach the entrance, taking out the sentries before they could sound the alarm. Now it had become a battle of attrition in dimly lit stone corridors, with the cries of the dying as background music.

The central chamber was by far the best defended, a row of archers took aim from wooden scaffolding, while the mage remained behind them throwing fire and ice at the advancing Oars. Swordsmen and pike men stood ready should any of Kendals crew get past the range fighters.

The Oars were losing badly.

The coterie men jeered at the Oars, laughing at how their attack had been stalled, it seemed that Threnhold's bully boys would not get through after all.

That was when a fireball blew up the scaffolding, spilling both the archers and the mage to the ground in the central chamber.

The panicked coterie tried to advance only to have their entire front line impaled by a wall of jagged icicles. Those behind tried to fall back.

That is when Malcolm Hawke stepped into the chamber, his eyes blazing red with magical light, another fireball dancing on his fingertips.

"Form up on Mal," Kendals cried, "he has cleared the path; now let's step through, to victory lads, to VICTORY!"

Malcolm met the coterie mage spell for spell, ice met fire, fire met stone, arcane shields shimmered in front of his fellow Oars. It had been almost two months since he had been able to let his magic flow freely. It felt good.

_Think only of whom you choose to spare._

Kendals struck again and again from the shadows, her blade slicing throats, and plunging into backs.

"That's the stuff Mal!" Kendals cried laughing madly, "Teach these blighters a lesson!"

Mal gritted his teeth, he could feel exhaustion starting to settle in, but he would not falter. The men needed him. He would stand.

The coterie mage charged him, their staves cracked together as the two mages battled for dominance. Mal twirled his staff viciously, slicing a shallow cut across the Coterie's chest with the bladed end of his pole arm.

The coterie mage laughed.

The blood leaking from the man's wound began to rise, swirling like a hurricane as he drew power from it.

_A blood mage._

Mal sodding hated blood mages.

Malcolm gestured.

The coterie seemed to deflate, Mal's dispel curse drew the magic out of the air like a sponge, an Oar Mabari leapt past him tackling the coterie to the ground. The dog ripped out the mage's throat before he had a chance to cry for help.

The battle became a route then. Mal used fire to drive the survivors into his fellows grasp. Scooping up the dead Coterie's mage staff, he fired lightning at the disorganized survivors.

As quickly as it began it was over.

The coterie had been destroyed utterly, of the thirty Oars that had participated in the attack four were dead, and six were wounded. Despite his exhaustion, Mal tended to the injured soldiers, blue light flowed from his hands, healing all but the most grievous of injuries. He even healed the Mabari that had ended the coterie mage's life. The dog lapped at his face happily.

Some of his fellows looked at him suspiciously, the old fear of magic clear in their eyes. Glaring at their ignorance Kendals strode into the middle of them, dragging Mal along with them.

"What?" she snarled, "So our little Mal is a mage, so what? He saved this little venture of ours, and now we get to go back and collect some of the Viscount's coin. I dare any of you sons of whores to speak poorly about him in my presence. I dare you!"

The Oars were silent. Finally a single voice rang out in the middle of the group.

"Hawke," the man chanted, "Hawke, Hawke!"

Soon all the Oars had picked up the chant, the chamber rang with the echoes of the young apostate's name.

_Hawke. Hawke. Hawke. Hawke!_

Mal just stood there, he was exhausted, his mana completely drained, but he was victorious.

_We are victorious._

His fist went up in salute to his fellows. The cheers rose echoing off the darkened chamber.

Malcolm Hawke had found his place. He was a Crimson Oar.

IOI

The Viscount was very pleased with the Crimson Oars victory. The arm of the coterie that had refused to pay his protection had been dealt with, and he had gained a powerful new ally in the Crimson Oars.

A lesson was taught to all.

On top of the payment the Viscount had offered, the Oars were also granted rights to salvage all the goods from the coterie base. The sum of fifty six sovereigns was recovered, not to mention an arsenal of new weapons and armor.

Kendals divided the loot accordingly, the sum of five sovereigns a piece would be sent to the families of the dead Oars. The survivors also got their pick of weapons and armor raided from the coterie. Mal decided to keep the dead mage's staff, as well as a supply of lyrium potions and a new chain shirt.

Not bad for a days work.

That night he joined his brothers and sisters celebrating in Hightown. The new casino was jumping with nobles and mercenaries eager to spend their wealth. A number of nobles even approached Kendals seeing if she was offering the services of some of her men as body guards.

She agreed to take all these offers under advisement.

As they celebrated, a runner from the dwarven merchants' guild approached Mal. Apparently a Lady Ilsa Tethras wished to hire the oars for a job. Someone had been attacking her trade caravans on the road to Starkhaven. Mal promised the dwarf to take the offer up with his Captain at the earliest convenience.

_But not tonight_ he thought, _tonight is for us._

Mal was surprised to see Ser Morivar at one of the tables that night. He found himself wondering if the Templar ever slept. He joined his new friend for a few hands of diamond back. Together they cleaned out two nobles and the leader of the White Falcons.

"Never bet against a Templar lads," Mori chuckled, "We always have the Maker on our side."

Life was good for the Oars in Kirkwall.

Life was good.

IOI

The man known as Grey crept into the destroyed coterie nest. He had a long bow in hand, an arrow nocked and ready, a pair of daggers at his belt.

Coterie he spat angrily, he never should have trusted them.

The place had been ransacked; the Viscount's men had been very thorough.

As he checked the bodies he found his merchandise, the mage that he had been promised was dead, his throat torn out by some large animal.

Grey supposed it was too late for a refund.

Shit!

The commander was going to be furious with him. He had paid the coterie fifteen gold up front, it was unlikely he would see any of that coin again, but what was worse that the mage was dead.

Grey had nothing for the sacrifice.

He knew he should return to Ansburg, the Commander needed to know the whole deal had gone south. They still needed to find another mage, and soon.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

How long would the seals hold without reinforcement. Grey did not know? Such information was way above one such as him.

_Keep searching! There must be something here you can use._

Grey surveyed the damage, the burn marks on the walls, the puddles of melting ice.

_There had been another mage here._

The coterie mage's staff was missing; a pack of mercs would not likely have taken it. The Templars would, but it was unlikely they would arrive for another day at least.

Another mage.

Grey sighed; it would be unlikely that anyone in Kirkwall would deal with him now. They would assume he had something to do with this. Perhaps, whoever did this?

He would return to Kirkwall, whoever did this was likely there. They would also likely be at Threnhold's side. Grey would find them. He would find the mage that had been here.

_One way or another, this mage will help us. I will not take no for an answer._

Grey slipped quietly out of the ruined base. It would take time, and that was not on his side. Yet, he would be successful. It was all about finding the right place to put pressure. You found the soft spot, and you squeezed.

Whoever did this would pay.

He swore it.


	8. And the High shall go Low

Chapter 7

And the High shall go Low

"Belsi? Belsi where are you?"

Leandra Amell looked up from the gowns lying on her bed. All were new, and all were glamorous. Mother had spared no expense in making Leandra beautiful tonight. Her hair was done, her cheeks rouged, she had even brought Grandmother Amells diamonds out for Leandra to wear.

_You must look your best dear. Guillaume would demand it I'm sure._

Tonight promised to be a most exceptional night. For the first time in many months, the Amell family would be whole under the same roof. Uncle Aristide and Aunt Revka would be there, it was even rumored that Uncle Damion would show. Tonight was the night for the Amells to celebrate, after tonight it would all be official, tonight was to be the big announcement, her big announcement.

Tonight, her Father would make public her betrothal to Guillaume.

Leandra sighed; it was all really going to happen. Ten months from today, just a week after her Eighteenth birthday, she would become Comptess Leandra DeLauncet. She knew she should be happy that everything would be set in stone after tonight; she thought she had resigned herself to her fate, but she could not shake off the feeling of panic building in her stomach.

_Can I really go through with this?_

"Belsi," she called again.

"You called Mistress Leandra?" Belsi, the Amell's elven servant girl said as she entered her room.

"Have you seen my brother today Belsi? I was hoping to speak with him before dinner this evening."

"I … I have not seen Master Gamlen all day Mistress." She said wringing her hands nervously, "I am sorry."

Leandra's eyes narrowed, Belsi had worked here since Leandra was a child. She had gotten used to the elf's speech and mannerism. She knew when the elf was happy, upset, or uncomfortable about something.

Belsi was clearly uncomfortable.

"It is alright Belsi." She soothed, "If you have heard where my brother is right now, I need to know. Father needs him to be here this evening, he needs to be here. Father will be ever so cross if he is not."

The elven woman's ears twitched. There was very little in this house that she did not know. Many a dirty secret had been passed in this house while Belsi filled someone's wine goblet. Her position here depended on her discretion. Life was hard for a lone elven woman in the alienage, without work it would be even harder.

"I …" the elf began nervously.

"It is okay Belsi," Leandra assured her, "I won't get you into trouble."

The elf sighed resignedly, "Your brother is in Lowtown Mistress."

"What?"

"He left four hours ago; I think he went to see Mistress Mara at _the Hanged Man_. He may still be there, I cannot say."

Leandra stifled the urge to curse_, Maker Gamlen, why now_?

Father insisted that they all be here this evening. He knew that Gamlen was unhappy with this arraignment, but stressed his son's need to be here. The DeLauncets may be insulted if he was not, and that could possibly end the new alliance before it even began.

_Would that be so terrible however?_

Leandra did her best to push such thoughts from her mind. She knew what this marriage meant to their family. Yes, it was much to ask of her, but an Amell always does her duty, that idea had been drilled into her since she was a toddler.

Duty must come before happiness, dear girl; her Father had told her sympathetically, this one act will save our family. You cannot afford to shirk your responsibilities.

"Thank you Belsi," she said shaking her head, "I appreciate your honesty."

"Shall I summon your Father's guards to go and retrieve Master Gamlen?"

"No, Father would hear of it then. I … I think I should go and retrieve my brother. I can do it quickly and with little fuss."

Belsi's eyes widened.

"Mistress!" she hissed, "Lowtown is not safe in the evening, the Viscount's ruffians have returned for the day. Even I don't risk returning to the alienage evenings. I stay here if I don't leave before dusk. Lowtown is not safe! You should send your Fathers guards, no one will bother them."

Leandra had never been to Lowtown, it was said to be place crime and cruelty, but from what she had seen in the keep, was Hightown so very different?

"Belsi don't worry," She said giving the elf a reassuring pat on the shoulder, "if Gamlen can move around in Lowtown safely than so can I. I'll be back with my brother in tow before Father even knows I've been gone.

The elf grimaced; she clearly did not like the idea, but what could she say; Leandra was an Amell after all.

"Please be careful mistress," the elf pleaded, "I would hate to see you come to harm."

Leandra nodded before running downstairs, she was not some noblemen's trophy wife yet. She was still Gamlen's big sister after all.

It was time she acted like it.

IOI

"So," Ser Mori said before downing his ale, "I hear you are working for Lady Tethras now."

They were sitting in _The Hanged Man_ again, and it was busy as always. The Oars were taking a bit of a break after that business with the coterie. The men still had gold in their purses so no one was eager to dive into the fire again just yet. The dwarven job sounded promising though.

"She has approached us," Mal confirmed, "Kendals hasn't decided if we are going to take the job yet. Why, do you think we shouldn't?"

"Not at all," Mori shrugged, "It's just you won't be alone this time. Lady Ilsa has been up the Knight-Commander's ass for months over this. Between the savagery of the attacks, and the mysterious left overs afterwards, it is unlikely that a Templar won't be accompanying you on this mission."

Mal's brow furrowed.

"What do the Templars know about these attacks?"

"Not much," Ser Mori admitted, "No survivors, the wagons burned couple of instances where a head has been piked near the scene of the attack. Last Templar to investigate reported that the air felt strange around the scene. Could have been magic I suppose. Anyway the Knight-Commander wants to shut Lady Tethras up, so I have volunteered to come along with whoever investigates."

"Would a Templar submit to mercenary command?" Mal asked drily.

"Have you seen your Captain," Mori said flashing a roguish grin, "I'd do whatever she asked of me, preferably without clothes of course.

Malcolm laughed, "I dare you to say that to her face."

"Kendals is a beautiful woman Mal," Mori sighed, "I would not mind getting to know her a little better."

"She is also good at breaking limbs," Mal chuckled.

"I will take that under advisement," the Templar said laughing, "Seriously though, do you think she would mind if I brought a mage from the Gallows along with us. I think we could use a little magic on our side.

Mal shrugged nervously, "I could not say, you would have to ask her. You would trust a mage to watch your back?"

"Mages are people to Mal," the Templar said dismissively, "most of them are good people, there are assholes too, but they don't get let out much. When push comes to shove, mages are the same as you and me."

For about the hundredth time Malcolm found himself asking if Ser Morivar knew what he was. They continued to dance around the issue, but eventually it would all come to a head. A shame too, Malcolm had come to consider the Templar one of his best friends.

Four heavily armed men entered _the Man_ at that moment; they scanned the room like they were looking for someone. Mal glanced at his friend, the Templar shrugged, Lowtown problems, none of their business.

Their attention turned to a young serving girl with strawberry blonde hair, striding forward purposely, their leader grabbed her arm, twisting it painfully, the young girl yelped.

"Where is he Mara?" The man sneered cruelly, "where is that bastard of a boyfriend of yours."

"I … I don't know what you are talking about." She whimpered, "Please Brayden, let me go!"

Mal started to rise, but Mori stopped him with a shake of his head and a raised finger.

"He owes me money bitch!" Brayden snarled, "I'll have it back even if I have to take it out of your pretty hide."

"I haven't seen Gamlen today!" the girl winced, "He wasn't …"

"Brayden!" a fifth man shouted from outside, "He's slipped out the back!"

Cursing, Brayden and his boys ran outside, leaving the young woman whimpering on the ground, rubbing her injured arm.

Both Malcolm and Morivar looked at each other weighing their options.

"None of our business." Mori said blandly.

"Nope," Mal agreed grabbing his pole arm and starting for the door.

"Not our affair at." The Templar sighed scooping up his sword and shield, "however, I hate stupid shits who bully women."

"I totally agree." Mal nodded.

"Let's go teach Brayden a lesson in manners." Mal said coldly.

"After you good ser." Mori said holding the door for his friend.

"Thank you Serrah,"

"My pleasure."

IOI

Leandra moved quickly down the stairs to Lowtown, she was hooded and cloaked, and was wearing the plainest clothes she owned. Belsi had advised her it was best not to draw attention to herself.

_Maker _she thought_, look at this place_.

Lowtown was not like anything Leandra had ever seen before, the ash falling from the foundries, the armored warriors prowling the streets, the whores on the corners. Maker help her, she could hardly believe that this was part of the place where she had grown up.

_How am I supposed to find Gamlen in all this? _

The courage she had shown earlier seemed a little fool hardy now. She was completely out of her element, without anyone to protect her. She wasn't defenseless however; Belsi had insisted she bring a dagger with her, for protection.

_Not that she knew how to use it however._

She supposed that she should start at this _Hanged Man_ place Belsi had mentioned. Apparently Gamlen's girl worked there. Maybe she could …

A figure crashed into her nearly bowling her over, she shrieked her hood falling from her head. Whoever it was wounded, she could see the blood running down the front of his shirt. His fingers leaving bloody hand prints on her cloak. Terrified eye looked into hers, they were known to her.

Then he spoke.

"Sister," Gamlen croaked, "run." Then he fell at her feet.

"Gamlen!" she shrieked, panicked she looked around for help, "Guards! Guards! Help!"

"No guards here sweetie," a man chuckled cruelly.

Leandra looked up, cradling her little brother in her arms, five armored figures were striding towards them. Their leader held a bloody dagger in his hand, he was smiling.

"Sister!" Gamlen wheezed, staring weakly at Brayden, "Brayden please, let her go."

Fury lit Leandra's eyes, she glared hatefully at the man who had hurt her baby brother, she drew her dagger, "Get away from him!" she snarled.

The thugs chuckled.

"Looky here boys," Brayden leered at the young girl, "Gamlen may not have any money for us, but he has brought us a lovely little pretty to entertain us. I'll go first if none of you mind."

His boys laughed.

Leandra refused to cower, if they thought they would hurt her, and escape unscathed, they were gravely mistaken.

"Now don't be like that pretty," Brayden sneered, "I will be gentle. I promise."

Leandra was terrified, but she did not even try to run, these animals had hurt Gamlen, she would hurt them back!

"Get away from them!"

The command came from behind them. Keeping one eye on the girl, Brayden glanced back. A Templar and a runt in a chainmail shirt stood there with weapons drawn.

"Go away boys," Brayden sneered, "before you get …"

Mal's eyes fell on the girl, he remembered her, and fury bloomed in his chest.

"I SAID GET AWAY!" he roared, as he charged.

He drove the bladed end of his staff into one of the thug's guts; the man gurgled and fell back. Mori bashed a second with his shield, running the man through before he could rise. Now the odds were a little better, three against two.

"Anyone else?" Ser Mori asked smiling dangerously.

"Do you have any idea who I work for?" Brayden gasped, shocked, "Do you know what they will do to you!"

"Thank us for killing you stupid shits." The Templar offered drily.

The thugs lost some of their bluster; the thought of dying in a Lowtown ally did not seem very tempting right now.

"You will pay for this you bastards," Brayden growled as he retreated, "we won't forget this!"

The thugs turned and ran.

IOI

"Mal help." Mori cried.

He rushed over; the girl sat crying, her brother whimpering weakly in her arms. Mori checked the boy's stab wound, it was bad.

"Mal is there anything you can do?" the Templar asked.

_He didn't dare, not in front of all these people_.

"Mori I don't …"

"Damn it Mal I know alright!" the Templar snarled, "This is no time to be playing games."

_He knows, of course he knows._

"Please Serrah," Leandra sobbed, "if you can help my brother, please!"

Malcolm glanced down, without aid the boy would bleed to death on the steps of Lowtown.

He could not allow that.

"Cover me," Mal hissed as they dragged the boy deeper into the shadows. Ser Morivar stood before them, trying to hide what his friend was about to do. Gamlen looked up at his sister, his gaze far away and weak.

"Lea," he gasped, "tell mother I …"

"Don't you die on me Gamlen." She snarled angrily, "stay with me!"

Mal gave the girl an appraising glance_, Maker she was fierce as well as beautiful._

"It will be alright," he whispered.

His hand went to Gamlen's stomach, Mal began to murmur under his breath, blue light suffused his hand, and flowed into the wound. Gamlen started, but Leandra held him down, before their eyes the wound closed. Leandra stared into the eye of the man who had saved her brother's life.

_Maker help me_, she thought it was the boy from the Viscount's Keep, _it is you._

Malcolm sighed weakly; healing magic always seemed to take a lot out of him.

Gamlen struggled, his eye wide with fear, "sister run, a mage!"

"Really," Ser Morivar said drily, "I guess that explains the glowing hands thing doesn't it?"

Malcolm shot him a dirty look.

Leandra helped Gamlen to his feet; she was shaking, barely able to stand. Mal moved to her side. She threw her arms around him sobbing uncontrollably.

"Maker bless you," she balled, "bless you ser."

"Malcolm," he said, his heart racing from the girl's nearness, the warmth of her body. He was finding it difficult to let the girl go, "My name is Malcolm."

"I'm Leandra," she sobbed, "this is my brother Gamlen. We …"

The boy, Gamlen, looked suspiciously at the mage, like he was something unappetizing laying on the side of the street.

"We-We should be getting back sister," Gamlen said, looking at the hole the blade had torn in his bloody shirt, he shuddered at how close he had come to death, "Father will be expecting us."

He nearly had to pull her from Malcolm's arms.

Leandra almost did not want to go.

"We owe you a debt Ser Malcolm," she said gratefully, her eyes bright with tears of joy, "I will see you rewarded."

"Sister come." Gamlen barked dragging her away.

The two nobles fled back up the stairs towards Hightown leaving the two warriors alone.

Ser Mori chuckled.

"Well that was fun." he said jovially, "shall we do it again?"

Mal looked at the Templar; it was one thing to pretend they did not know about each other, it was another to admit it openly.

"We have a problem." Mal said seriously.

"I suppose we do." Mori admitted.

Mal found his hand on his pole arm; he would not be locked up in the Gallows.

"So what are we going to do about it?" he asked his friend.

"Well," the Templar said clasping his hands, "I'm going to get drunk, your welcome to join me if you wish." with that the Templar turned on his heel heading back in the direction of _the Hanged Man. _

Mal stared after his friend, a bemused look on his face.

One thing was for certain, Ser Morivar Carver was the strangest Templar he had ever known, but in a good way yes.

Definitely in a good way.


	9. The Dwarven Job

Chapter 8

The Dwarven Job

The Dwarven quarter of Kirkwall was an interesting experience for Mal. He had read about dwarven society in the tower of course, the caste system, the election of paragons, and the life or death politics that defined the Dwarven world. He had never expected to see such a world for himself.

Home to the dwarven merchants' guild, the area of Kirkwall the locals referred to as little Orzammar did its best to live up to that name. Great bronze statues of paragons decorated the market area. The dwarves here sold traditional items from their far off homeland, armor and steel was the foremost of these, but also casks of Dwarven lichen ale, and expensive hand crafted jewelry.

Malcolm found himself at one of these stalls examining a beautiful gold and sapphire necklace. It would likely cost him a week's pay to purchase it, but something's are worth such a price.

He imagined seeing Leandra wearing it. Leandra, such a beautiful name, the sapphires would definitely match her eyes, though they would likely pale in comparison to the beauty of the woman wearing them.

What?

_Whoa there Hawke_, he thought to himself, _considering you will likely never see that girl again I think you can forgo purchasing any lavish gifts._

Besides courting a girl of noble birth is not something an apostate on the run should even consider doing, not unless that apostate wants to be tossed back in the circle.

He knew that he should let this go, a crush is all fine and well, but seriously what could he offer a girl like that? Best he push all thoughts of Leandra Amell out of his mind.

_Both those eyes, Maker help him those eyes._

Shaking his head he realized that he should try to focus on the Job in hand.

Lady Ilsa Tethras had met with Captain Kendals early this morning; Mal had accompanied her given his minor celebrity status in Kirkwall. Kendals had hoped to impress the dwarven noble with a little flash of power.

Lady Tethras was a bit of a surprise to Mal, she may have been an elegant woman once, but drink had robbed her of much of the social graces. She was surly at times, and nearly dismissed them twice if not for the actions of her teenage son Bartrand. Finally Kendals had agreed to speak with the Lady alone in order to iron out the matter of payment and placement of the Oars for the trade convoy that was to leave this afternoon.

_Maybe she just doesn't want me to see her trying to pacify a drunken noble woman. _

Whatever the reason Mal found himself in the main hall of the Tethras family estate while Kendals conducted the rest of their business. He found himself wondering what could have driven a noble dwarven family from the seat of power in Orzammar, none of his business probably, but the curiosity remained.

"Hi."

Mal looked up to see a small dwarven toddler standing in front of him, a boy of about three or four he was guessing. He had never seen a dwarf child before.

He smiled at the little fellow, "Greetings, what is your name?"

"Varric," the little boy said blushing.

"Hello Varric, I'm Malcolm."

"Mill-Come," the boy sounded out.

Malcolm smiled, it was close enough.

"Do you know any stories Mill-come? I love stories."

"I know a few."

The dwarf's eyes lit up.

"Really! Could you tell me one! Mama doesn't have time to tell me stories, she's always busy."

_Mama, was this boy Lady Ilsa's son?_

"Varric come away from there!"

Bartrand Tethras strode up to his baby brother a scowl on his beardless face.

"Barty no," the boy cried, "He was going to tell me a story."

"You shouldn't bother the help brother," the older boy said dragging the child away, "besides you should move in higher circles then them."

Bartrand dragged the child away, tears present in the child's eyes. Malcolm felt sorry for the boy, but there was really nothing that he could do.

_None of your business Hawke, stay out of it._

A few moments later Kendals emerged from the study, she regarded Mal with a nod, and he fell in beside her.

"We have been hired to accompany the Tethras caravan along the western road, apparently the attacks have all been happening there. That Templar Ser Morivar is going to be joining us as well. You sure you are comfortable with that Mal?"

Malcolm nodded, of all the Templars in Kirkwall Ser Mori was the only one that Malcolm Hawke did trust.

The two mercenaries left the Tethras estate, there was still much to be done before they departed this evening.

IOI

Grey readied his weapons; he knew he had to hurry. It would be tricky, but with a bit of luck and a shortcut across the wounded coast, he should be able to catch up with the Tethras caravan, before it made it on to the main road.

Grey knew what was attacking the caravans, and he knew that the mage he was searching for was likely to be there to. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone tonight.

_I wonder if they realize what they are getting into out there_, he thought_, if they did they probably wouldn't have gone in the first place._

Regardless he had no choice. It was time to meet his mage.

IOI

"I'm curious Serrah Hawke," the circle mage said pleasantly, "how long have you been on the run from the circle?"

Malcolm glared at Ser Morivar, who chuckled.

"Don't worry about Tobey Mal," he reassured his friend, "he knows how to keep his mouth shut."

The circle mage blanched, "Really Ser Morivar must you?"

"My apologies Tobrius," the Templar chuckled, "I know how much you hate your name shortened."

"Then why do it?"

"Because I like annoying you Tobey." He replied.

Tobrius let out a long suffering sigh, Mal could not help but chuckle himself.

The circle mage was a good friend of Ser Morivar. He was also a senior enchanter in Kirkwall's loyalist fraternity. Malcolm had been understandably concerned about his presence, but Mori had assured him not to be. He was also a powerful force mage, a necessary evil should they be attacked.

Malcolm had never had any talent for such magics. He was concerned that Tobrius may use them to bind him for other Templars to come and capture him, but Ser Mori once again stood up for the circle mage.

"Tobrius grew up in the circle Mal, he never had any reason to leave, but he respects those who choose not to be a part of it. He isn't looking to force anyone in who doesn't want to be."

Malcolm could understand that.

"I've been free for about two months now," Mal replied, answering Tobrius's question, "so far without incident."

"Why did you leave if I might ask?"

"That is personal," Malcolm said, "I hope you can respect that."

"Of course Serrah Hawke," Tobrius said with a slight bow, "I meant no offense."

"None taken,"

Malcolm did not like to think about what he saw in the tower the night he had left. He barely believed it himself.

_I couldn't stay, not when the first enchanter was willing to associate with a monster._

So far the trip had been quiet. The dwarves and their Oar escorts had encountered no problems, but they were coming up on the spot where the attacks had occurred.

Whatever was going on, they would face it soon.

IOI

Grey observed the caravan coming around the nearest bend; the dwarves were completely oblivious to the danger up ahead.

Grey's blood hummed in his veins, his eyes fell on a small cave entrance, just ahead of the caravan. Another moment and caravan would be passing in front of it.

Then the attack would begin.

Grey pulled his longbow; it was time to go to work.

IOI

"Tobrius!"

Malcolm tackled the circle mage, the creature's blade coming within inches of beheading the man.

The Dwarves shrieked, they were surrounded, the creatures sprang from the very ground. Two oars were cut down before they even realized they were under attack.

Mal threw a cone of cold at the creature, freezing it in place. By the Maker it was ugly; it looked like a cross between a diseased corpse and his worst nightmare. Milky diseased eyes stared out from sunken sockets as phlegmy breaths wheezed from the creatures' mouths.

"Thank you Serrah," Tobrius gasped, "If you hadn't …"

"Darkspawn," a dwarf shrieked, "run!"

_Darkspawn_?

Malcolm thought they were extinct.

It had been almost four hundred years since the last blight, a blight that had supposedly seen the last of the foul creatures.

_Guess the scholars were wrong,_ Malcolm thought.

_Lucky us._

Kendals and Morivar tried to rally the surviving Oars and dwarves. Tobrius hit the creatures with a force blast, knocking many of them to the ground. Mal followed up with fireballs, the stench of burning darkspawn filled the air.

_We have to keep them back. If they get organized, they will overwhelm us._

The situation was grim, even if Kendals was able to rally everyone. The darkspawn still had the advantage of surprise. The dwarves had not been expecting trouble, not like this anyway.

_Never a Grey Warden around when you need one_. Mal thought sarcastically.

Fortunately, he was wrong.

Without warning an arrow struck the nearest darkspawn, it squealed and fell over. Another arrow, another felled creature, and so on.

Mal glance up to see a hooded figure emerge from the shadows. He dashed into the center of the disorganized darkspawn. His daggers flashed, black ichor sprayed from the wounded creatures.

The coterie would have recognized him as the man they knew as Grey. To Malcolm and his fellows, he was now a savior.

To the darkspawn, he was a swift death.

They tried to surround the fleet footed rogue, only to be struck by a mind blast spell from Malcolm. Dazed, the creatures staggered around drunkenly.

"Attack!" Kendals screamed, "All of you attack."

Between Malcolm and Tobrius's magic, the hooded archers speed, and Kendals quick rallying of her troops, the darkspawn soon found themselves out maneuvered. The creatures tried to retreat back underground to no avail. Kendals and the Oars cut them off.

Finally the last of the spawn fell.

Malcolm gasped exhausted, Tobrius looked equally drained, but neither man could wipe the silly grin from their faces. They were alive, gloriously, wonderfully alive.

Kendals advance on their savior. He regarded her with undisguised interest.

"Many thanks Serrah," she said warmly.

"It is no trouble milady." Grey said bowing gallantly.

Milady? Mal waited for Kendals to put the rogue in his place, only to hear a surprising sound, a girlish giggle emerge from his commander's mouth.

_She giggled? The Captain doesn't giggle?_

"I am Kendals," she said, blushing slightly, "these men and I comprise the Crimson Oar mercenary company of Kirkwall, and you are?"

"I am pleased to meet you Milady." Grey said removing his hood, revealing a man only a year or so older than Malcolm, though his eyes appeared much older, clearly this boy had seen some horrible things.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he grinned, "I am a Grey Warden, my name is Alec."


	10. Ladies Choice

Chapter 9

Ladies Choice

Word of the darkspawn attack sped like wildfire through the streets of Kirkwall.

If it was not panic it was the closest thing to. Darkspawn, actual darkspawn on the surface, many feared it may be the prelude to a blight. Why else would the darkspawn appear on the surface, why else would a grey warden appear to kill them, and why wasn't the Viscount doing something.

Threnhold called an immediate session of court when the Crimson Oars returned with the grey warden in tow. Apparently, one of the dwarves had fled the battle and ran back to Kirkwall without waiting to see the outcome. The Viscount demanded answers from this mysterious Warden. He had many plans for fair Kirkwall, and he had no desire to see them upset.

Especially by the darkspawn.

Alec stood before the Viscount now; he bowed slightly in deference to the man's position, but no more. Grey Wardens did not bow to nobility. Quickly the Viscount fired off his questions, which Alec answered simply and blandly.

What are you doing here?

I was here on business.

What were the darkspawn doing outside my city?

Killing travelers obviously.

Does this mean a blight?

I don't think so, just a raid from how few darkspawn there were.

Would you know for certain?

We watch for these things, your Excellency.

Will more wardens be coming?

Two or three perhaps to make sure the west road is safe.

Will you be establishing a garrison here?

I don't think that will be necessary, we have one up in Ansburg as you well know.

The last answer seemed to pacify the Viscount, he had enough concerns for his plans with the Templars roosted out in the Gallows, and he had no desire to have Grey Wardens underfoot as well.

Both the Viscount and the Seneschal did their best to calm the nobles of Kirkwall. An isolated incident, no proof that a blight was imminent, everyone should return to their daily routines and not got agitated.

As for the Warden he was apparently going to remain in the city until his fellows had a chance to investigate the cave that the darkspawn had emerged from. He had decided to remain with the Crimson Oars for the time being. The warden said that he felt more comfortable in the company of fellow soldiers.

This also pleased the Viscount, since he viewed the Oars to be firmly in his pocket and would deal with the Warden if such circumstances should arise. If the warden did cause any trouble for either him or his son, he would simply advise Kendals to remove him. That way any blame for the Warden's death would fall on Kendals and her men, leaving the Viscount and Kirkwall itself clean.

That idea also appealed to the Viscount.

IOI

The next few days saw Malcolm spending most of his time with the Grey Warden. During his time in the tower he had spent many an evening reading tales of the Grey Wardens of old. Now to actually meet one face to face, to be able to ask questions about the darkspawn, and to have the opportunity to test his skills sparing with the man, well, it was a rare treat for him.

Captain Kendals had also taken a bit of a shine to their new guest. As a knife fighter herself, she found herself intrigued by the Warden's speed and stamina in combat. Though Malcolm suspected she would likely wish to test it in other arenas as well.

_Good luck fella_, he thought with a chuckle.

Ser Morivar had returned to the Gallows. For some reason the Templar seemed put off by the new arrival. Mal had heard how a sense of rivalry existed between the Templars and the Grey Wardens, that both groups saw themselves as the finest warriors in Thedas, and that both believed that only they were the true defenders of this world.

Malcolm did not know anything about that, but it was clear that his friend felt uncomfortable around the new arrival. They were supposed to meet in _The Hanged Man_ later for drinks, but given the way Mori was acting that may not come to pass.

_Or maybe he doesn't like the way Kendals and the Warden look at each other?_

Mal had suspected for some time that the Templar might have designs on his commanding officer, but as he had cautioned his friend that may not be in his best interest. Kendals wasn't just some pampered court maiden, and she could hurt you if you hurt her, hurt you extremely bad.

None of your business Hawke, just leave it be.

"Hey Malcolm," one of the Oars cried out, "someone here to see you."

Rising from his seat, Malcolm headed for the front of their base, he could not imagine who would want to speak to him, surely Mori would just enter, and if the Templars had come to arrest him they would certainly not ask to see him.

His visitor turned out to be a lithe elven runner, the little fellow's clothing screamed of Hightown, and by the nervous nature in which the elf regarded his surrounding it was clear that he was not used to being dockside.

_Interesting._

"Serrah Hawke?" the elf asked.

Malcolm nodded.

"A message messere," he said handing Malcolm a letter, "from his Excellency, Lord Fausten Amell."

_Amell? As in Leandra?_

Malcolm opened the letter and read it. _Hm? Even more interesting._

"You may tell your master I will be their promptly ser."

The elf nodded, turned sharply and left the premises.

Kendals who had witnessed the display from a distance came up to her young charge, a puzzled look on her face.

"What was that about?" she asked.

"Apparently I have been summoned." Mal shrugged, "Lord Amell wishes to speak with me."

IOI

That evening Malcolm found himself sitting in the Library of the Amell family estate. His Lordship was currently occupied the young elven servant girl had told him, and requested that he make himself comfortable.

That shouldn't be too difficult the young apostate thought.

As he waited he found himself drawn to the collection of books that his Lordship kept in here. There were many rare volumes that Malcolm had never seen before, and some he had only heard of in passing.

The scholar that he had once been was intrigued. Many a night he had sat in the tower library, reading everything from treatises on magical theory to the history of politics in Orlais. Some of it was dry stuff of course, but Malcolm never failed to be fascinated by it. He used to dream of getting out of Kinloch Hold, of traveling Thedas, perhaps as a court mage in service to the nobility.

_Never figured I would walk the apostate's path._

He was about to pick up a tome of the history of the lycanthropic plagues of Northern Ferelden when the door suddenly opened.

"Good Evening Serrah." A courtly voice said behind him, "I am Lord Fausten Amell."

Malcolm bowed politely to the nobleman. He was quick to notice the similarities between Lord Amell and his daughter. Both Amells had the same sky blue eyes, but while Leandra's radiate a sense of innocence, her father's shown with a bit of weariness and caution. Not a bad thing for a nobleman forced to serve in the court of Viscount Threnhold.

"Good evening Messere," Malcolm replied, "Malcolm Hawke as you requested."

The nobleman nodded, he turned his attention to books Malcolm had been perusing. A curious smile tugged at the older man's lips.

"I find it odd Serrah Hawke that a man in your position would be much of an avid reader."

"I was not always an independent soldier your Lordship." The young man said chagrined, "In my youth, I was training to be a brother in the chantry," the apostate lied; he was not quite ready to advertise his magical status to one of the most powerful men in Kirkwall.

"Academia did not appeal to you Ser Hawke?"

"Circumstances arose beyond my control I am afraid," Mal shrugged, "after that I found myself adrift. The Crimson Oars gave me purpose again. I am grateful to them for that."

"So I can imagine," the Lord nodded, he seemed impressed to see that Malcolm had more to offer than just a strong sword arm.

_Wonder what is going on?_

Lord Amell offered the young man a seat and slowly the two men got down to business.

"It has come to my attention recently that you aided my children against some ruffians near the entrance to Lowtown. Is that true?

It was not entirely accurate, but Mal suspected that Leandra and her brother had not told their father everything that had transpired that night. So he simply nodded an affirmative.

"It is a shame what is happening to our city Serrah Hawke. There was a time where someone could walk the streets in relative safety, protected by the loyal guardsmen of Kirkwall. Sadly, that is no longer the case.

Malcolm shuddered; the face of the guardsman from the Keep sprang fresh in his mind.

"The Viscount has designs for this city," Lord Amell continued, "designs that may benefit all of Kirkwall in the future, but for now, cause the nobility in this city no ends of trouble. Ruffians roam are streets. Mercenaries no better than criminals prey on the innocent." The Lord paused as he noticed the young man's face, "that it by no means meant as an offense to you young man, simply and old man's observation."

"No problem Messere," Mal shrugged, "Many who have been drawn to Kirkwall are not the most … savory of personages."

Lord Amell chuckled.

"Do you consider yourself to be one of these unsavory personages Serrah Hawke?"

"I try not to be Messere."

"Excellent," Lord Amell clasped his hands, "then you are perfect for the task I wish to hire you for."

"Task Milord?"

The noble nodded, "I wish you to aid me Serrah Hawke. In the protection of my most prized possession. The light of my existence."

Mal found himself intrigued.

"I wish you to serve as bodyguard for my daughter Leandra."

Mal's heart stopped.

"My … my Lord are you sure? I … I am flattered by the offer, but"

"Leandra told me of the skill you possess Serrah, and of how steadfastly you defended my daughter and son. Such a man can do well in fair Kirkwall. A man of honor is desperately needed now. I would prefer to have such a man guarding my daughter. If you would but accept."

To protect Leandra? To be in her service daily? Malcolm's belly fluttered nervously. Was such a thing a good idea?

"I would be honored Messere." Malcolm answered, "But I am under contract with Serrah Kendals of the Crimson Oars. As my commander, she must approve all bodyguard assignments."

"You respect the chain of command," the Lord nodded, "I can respect that. Moreover that is not a concern. While you were waiting for me, I sent word to your Captain with an offer for your services, an intriguing woman to be sure, but she and I have come to an agreement I believe."

Mal was shocked, "You could have mentioned that at the start of our negotiations Messere. "

"True," the Lord agreed, "but I wanted to judge the quality of the man standing before me. If you were willing to betray your oath for my coin, then I would know you would not be fit to watch over my daughter. You did not. As I said earlier, I need such a man to protect my Leandra in these difficult times."

Malcolm nodded, it made sense.

"So Serrah Hawke? Can I count on you to keep my daughter safe?"

Malcolm rubbed his chin thoughtfully, it was a bad idea. He should stay as far away from Leandra Amell as possible. In the end all he could do was hurt her, but still …

There really wasn't any choice.

"Milord," he rose offering the nobleman his hand, "I would be honored."

"Perfect," Amell grinned, "I will have a formal contract drawn up for your consideration, I will send word by tomorrow evening when you shall be needed. Thank you for your time Serrah Hawke, Belsi will see you out."

Malcolm nodded following the nobleman out into the hallway.

Bodyguard to Leandra Amell.

_Maker help me,_ he thought with an amused quirk of his lips_, I am in serious trouble_.


	11. Moving Forward

_Short chapter here, but the beginning of a lot of action in the coming days enjoy!_

Chapter 10

Moving Forward

The next three months passed quickly in the city of Kirkwall. Once the excitement of the darkspawn attack calmed down the city found itself settling back into its everyday routine, merchants sold their wares, nobles negotiated deals involving land and power, and more mercenary bands responded to the Threnholds' open summons. Hundreds of new warriors began to fill the city, and all were looking to stake a claim on fair Kirkwall.

Groups like the Crimson Oars who had done very well in the city, now found themselves with more competition. The Viscount encouraged conflict between the groups, if only to feed his vanity. Nobles bribed the city guard handsomely to protect them from these new ruffians, and Perrin Threnhold raised his protection fees on all merchants, all to insure their protection, of course.

For Malcolm Hawke and his companions this presented new challenges. Captain Kendals found herself embroiled in the politics of Kirkwall. The Red Iron mercenary band had begun to threaten any who sought the Crimson Oars services, it had not become open war yet, but it was a possibility. On top of all those problems the city guard seemed to be supporting the Red Iron's claims. It seemed that the Viscount's son had not forgiven the Oars for spoiling his fun in the keep.

The Grey Warden Alec remained with the Crimson Oars, his friendship with Malcolm Hawke, and his attraction to Kendals growing. For the first time in his young life the warden felt conflict between his desires and duty. Commander Larius still demanded constant reports on Alec's search for a mage. The warden found himself reluctant to approach his friend Hawke about this. He hoped to find another mage to aid them, one that he would not mind putting at risk. Malcolm was a good man, and a good mage. Alec had no desire to put his new friend at risk.

Ser Carver remained a constant companion in Malcolm's life. In the months that followed the Tethras job, the Knight-Commander began to take notice of the young Templar's service. He promoted Ser Morivar to the rank of Knight-Lieutenant. Though Mori complained about his new responsibilities, it was clear that he enjoyed the freedom his new rank gave him. He no longer needed a Lieutenant's permission to take a mage from the Gallows when he needed. This new power allowed the Templar to take Tobrius out into Kirkwall whenever he desired. The circle mage was then free to continue Malcolm's training in magic. Tobrius felt he owed Hawke from saving him from the darkspawn, and passing on magical lessons was the least he could do. Under the circle mage's guidance, Malcolm's powers continued to grow, his grasp of elemental magic increased greatly, and though he showed no talent for the force magic that was Tobrius's specialty, he did become a very powerful healer. A talent that was extremely necessary in the world of the Crimson Oars.

As for Malcolm himself, his life was constantly busy. He divided his time between the Oars and his duties to the Amell family. Lord Amell had begun to bring Leandra with him to every political function in Kirkwall. It was clear that the noble intended his young daughter to be the new face of the Amell family.

_And what a face it_ _was _Malcolm thought.

It was rare that Leandra was not out on the streets of Hightown with her new bodyguard only a word away. The two spoke often, respectfully, yes, but also with a sense of nervous excitement that neither was willing to admit. She found herself blushing under his regard; just a hint of a smile would set it off. She also found herself watching him without trying too, and he felt the air sizzle whenever they were together. It was both terrible and wonderful at the same time, a beautiful torment.

It was an exciting time to be a Kirkwaller.

It would not last.

Beyond her walls, the powerful were talking. From Tantervale to Ostwick, from Ostwick to Starkhaven, and from Starkhaven to Ansburg word of the military buildup in the city of chains sparked concern and worry.

Threnhold's ambitions were not unknown. Sooner or later he would move to unify the disorganized mercenary groups into a unified force, and then all of the Free Marches would find itself facing a massive host from Kirkwall. The various Lords and Princes debated on how best to deal with this brewing crisis. Some suggested that the Chantry should get directly involved, to use the Templars to force the Viscount to back down from this dangerous path. Word was sent to both the Grand Cleric and Knight-Commander Guylian. There answer was met with not much joy.

The Chantry cannot involve itself in the matters of politics; the Templars exist only to guard the chantry and the circle. Any use of them as a political force would be a breach of Chantry etiquette. It was impossible for Chantry to involve themselves in the matter of the crown.

So the military buildup in Kirkwall continued, the city states of the Free Marches began to gird themselves for a war that was perhaps inevitable. A war that would likely see Kirkwall either destroyed or the unquestioned power in the Free Marches. A war that would also likely weaken the victors to such a degree that anyone, from either the Orlesians to the distant Qunari, would have an easy victory should they choose to exploit it. It seemed unlikely that such a conflict could be avoided, the crisis threatened to expand.

But where some see crisis, others see opportunity, the Chantry's dismissal of the others city states pleas were not lost on some within the Chantry. People that chafed under Threnhold's rule recognized that if the correct strings could be pulled, at the correct time, then it was possible to diffuse the troubles without massive loss of life, while in the process expanding their personal power to undreamed of levels.

A web of intrigue began to spread from the Gallows, the plotting began, nobles met with their supporters, their supporters their underlings. In the Gallows, word was sent to Templars that felt as the nobles did, it was time to act, to change Kirkwall for the better. It would be a slow process, but an empire was not built in a day. One day word would come from the corridors of the Gallows, and on that day the Threnhold dynasty would be cast down, a new day would dawn.

At the heart of the web, sat a most singular spider, a black widow if you will, she was yet unknown to those in power, choosing to act through others. That would change soon enough.

Reading quietly in her quarters, Ser Meredith Stannard waited patiently. She had an appointment this evening, but after that all would begin to change.

The Maker's judgment was coming to Kirkwall.

Her time had now come.


	12. A Templar's Heart

_A bit of a mature chapter here, nothing to graphic, but be forewarned. Any reviews would be appreciated as we progress. They're my fuel after all. Enjoy chapter 11!_

Chapter 11

A Templar's Heart

Ser Meredith Stannard sat before the vanity mirror; she was still in her small clothes, slowly running a brush through her hair. Her eyes were distant, her bearing cold. She was trying to forget last night, what she let that… man do to her. It was necessary she knew; if her plans were to succeed as she wished them to then sacrifices were to be expected. She would do anything to ensure the safety of Kirkwall. Her honor, her faith, even her sex was just a tool to ensure that the nobles and mages of her home were brought properly to heel.

It would have been better if the man she had chosen were one of the righteous. If he believed as she believed, but that was not the case. He was just another brutish fool who would need to be swept away with the others when the time came. The only regret she would feel is that the memory of what she had given to him would remain with her for the rest of her days.

His very touch disgusted her.

_For you my beautiful Amelia, always for you_.

"You should stay, have breakfast with me."

Perrin Threnhold lay naked in the bed behind her a goblet of wine resting on his bare chest. The Viscount's son had proven to be a valuable pawn in Meredith's schemes. In the last six months that she had been sharing his bed, she had learned much of the schemes that the Threnholds used to control fair Kirkwall. More than once had she been tempted to use that knowledge, to strike at the very heart of their corrupt regime, but each time patience had stopped her. The things she had learned were small, petty victories that the Magistrates of Kirkwall might ignore in the face of the power of the Viscount's office. They were not enough to cripple these unrighteous bastards. No, when Meredith did finally move, it would leave the Threnholds power shattered beyond repair. Only then would fair Kirkwall be safe.

"I have muster tomorrow morning," she said coolly.

The Viscount's son rose from the bed, coming up behind her, his finger tracing a lazy line on her bare shoulders. She shuddered with revulsion, which he mistakenly thought was excitement.

""I'm sure the Knight-Commander would make allowance, if the Viscount's son said that he needed a Templar's… services for the day."

Meredith fought the urge to roll her eyes, Maker the arrogance of this man.

She lived for the day to see her dear Perrin fall, to stand beneath his corpse as it swung lazily at the end of a rope. Often in heighth of their passions she would let this vision fill her mind; it was the only time that she drew true pleasure from the experience.

_There will be time for pleasure later_ she thought, _now it is time to plant the seeds_.

"I worry about you love," she said sadly.

His finger paused on her shoulder.

"Why would that be my dear Meri?"

"I fear that your Father's action have put your life in danger. The eyes of the Free Marches are not blind my Lord, they see much."

Perrin chuckled, "Your concerns flatter me my dear, but I assure you all is proceeding according to our plans. In five years' time, all of the Free Marches will be firmly under the control of Kirkwall."

_If the Maker favors me, you will be dead in five years fool._

"The men your Father chooses to aid in this endeavor cannot be trusted," she continued, putting just the right amount of concern into her voice, "they squabble in the streets, they engage in enterprises outside of your Lordships control. I would not be surprise if some are even spying for the other city states."

"I would be surprised if some of them were not."

"Then there are the nobles."

Perrin tilted his head intrigued by her suggestion.

"They do not share the faith in you that I have love. They fear that your Father will lead our city to ruin."

"My father will not be around forever Meri. One day I shall be Viscount."

"Not if your Father drags Kirkwall into a war that is lost."

He seemed to consider her words. Likely he had had the same thoughts; after all she had worked hard to plant them there.

"Will the Templars not support their Lord in his hour of need?"

"Guylian is a blind fool," in this at least Meredith did not have to lie, "he follows the Grand Cleric's edict to the letter. He will hide behind his duty to protect the mages."

Perrin considered this, "Then perhaps a new Knight-Commander should rise in his place, yes? Someone with both the faith and understanding of how Kirkwall should be run, such a person would find the Viscount's office extremely grateful I am sure."

_Well that was easy_ Meredith thought. She knew that Guylian would have to die. It was unfortunate but necessary. The old fool would never accept what she had in mind for the mages. He cared too much for their well fair. It was just a matter of how and when he met his end now.

Perrin smiled deviously at her, "I have often wondered my dear if these liaisons of ours are not meant to see you rise into the Knight-Commander's seat. You are clearly ambitious, I hope that I am more to you than simply a means to an ends."

_You are whatever I need you to be fool._

"It was part of that at first Milord," she said taking his hand in hers, "but since we have been together. I … you have awoken something in me, something I did not even know was there."

_Sometime the best way to lie was to wrap it in a bit of truth._

Perrin's ego ate up such drivel.

"You will find me a generous Lord my Meri." he said gently, "once my enemies have been dealt with, I will be able to offer you more than just a warm bed. On that day, I will be able to give you all your dreams on a silver platter."

"When you say enemies love, does that include your Father as well?"

A simple question yes, but a mistake as well.

Threnhold's eyes narrowed. The hand gently resting on her shoulder hardened into a vice. Did he suspect what she was trying to do? He was cunning, if not very clever. Had she stepped too far too fast?

_Back up, time for damage control._

Her eyes softened, her manner became more agreeable.

"I worry about you love," she murmured, kissing his fingers lightly.

The gesture of affection seemed to sooth the young tyrant. Anger fled at the simple touch of her lips. He reached down gently kissing her forehead. Once again she had to suppress her revulsion.

"Do not fret on the nobles my dear. Events are moving according to my plan to ensure that when the time comes, the nobles will all fall in line."

_And what are those plans_ she wondered, _and how could she turn them to her advantage_.

She would have Karras and Alrick speak with their noble allies, perhaps their lackeys could discover what was going on. If not Meredith would just have to search herself. Perrin would tell her his secrets. She knew exactly how to ask.

_Once again I will sacrifice my body to this fool, but one day that will not be necessary_.

She secretly longed for that day.

Threnhold brought his lips to her neck, kissing at first, and then biting gently at the soft flesh. Meredith gasped; it seemed her performance last night required an encore. He scooped her into his arms and brought her back to the bed, stripping her small clothes from her with a feral growl.

She allowed Perrin to have her again, though she longed for the day that she would no longer require his confidence, the day that he ceased to be useful to her.

_The day dear Perrin, you learn why our fortress is called the Gallows._

The day that she finally made Kirkwall safe, the day she achieved her dreams.

_Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard_

Then she would be free to act as her conscience allowed, to end the mage threat to Kirkwall once and for all.

She cried out in pleasure at the thought, knowing it would please the fool she had allowed inside of her. She had to be patient; all she desired would come to her in time.

_For you Amelia, always for you._


	13. Parry and Guard

Chapter 12

Parry and Guard

"Say that one more time and I'll gut you bitch!"

Kendals smiled sweetly at the younger mercenary, she had to give the boy credit, anyone else would have been intimidated by her reputation. He was either very brave or sodding stupid.

"Dear Lothar," she said sweetly, "please muzzle this young pup before someone decides to neuter him."

The young man started to go for his sword, but the older man before him stopped him.

"Calm down Meeran," Lothar leader of the Red Iron Mercenary band hissed, he was a grizzled old bastard, blind in one eye, and missing his right hand. He was also one of the smartest of the mercenary leaders in Kirkwall. Kendals respected the old man greatly, which was likely the only reason lowtown and the docks were not running red with Red Iron blood.

This attack on my people made no sense, Kendals thought, why kick the bear if you don't want to fight it.

A week and a half ago the Oars had taken a job for Lord Harriman; twelve Oars were assigned to protect a consignment of trade goods bound for Ostwick. The shipment never arrived. Someone had jumped the shipment a day out of Kirkwall, the goods were burned, the traders killed, and the Twelve Oars were murdered and left hanged naked from a tree. Given all the trouble the Oars had been having with the Red Iron the last few months, many assumed that the Iron must have been responsible. Kendals did not agree; it was too simplistic. If Lothar had killed her men he would have ransomed the trade goods back to Lord Harriman. There was no reason to burn the them; the Red Iron had to work in this city too after all.

She had called this sit down here in _The Hanged Man_ to try and prevent a bloody conflict that was clearly not good for business. Lothar seemed open to parlay, his attack dog however …

"You have my word my dear that the Red Iron had nothing to do with this attack on your people." Lothar smiled cruelly at her, "if we did you can certainly bet that we would have made damn sure that you knew we were responsible."

"I am happy to hear that Lothar," Kendals said with a curt nod, "but you have to understand my position here. How would you react if twelve of your people got dead and strung up like pieces of meat?"

"I'd probably be out looking for blood and balls." The old man admitted.

"Exactly," Kendals agreed, "which may be the whole point."

Lothar tilted his head curiously, gesturing for Kendals to continue.

"A month ago the White Falcons and the Flint Company had their little blood feud. Both sides claiming the other did something to other, neither taking responsibilities for the initial attacks."

"A set up?"

"Possibly," Kendals shrugged, "a lot of new blood in Kirkwall these days. Maybe one of the newcomers is looking to whittle down the competition."

"Maybe you're behind it." Meeran offered, "Get everyone worked up against us."

"I would not kill my own men." Kendals hissed; she was getting really close to shutting the kid up once and for all.

"Shut up Meeran." The older man whispered.

"But Commander, she said…"

"I said SHUT UP!"

The young soldier obeyed, clearly not happy about it though.

"Kirkwall has been good to both our groups;" Kendals said seriously, "a war would be bad for business to both sides. The Viscount will likely be needing us all in the coming months. I'd rather not screw that up on account of a misunderstanding, yes? You say your men had nothing to do with this I'll believe you in the interest of peace and future profits."

"Very kind of you," Lothar chuckled, "but…"

"But…" Kendals said her eyes narrowing dangerously, "if you are lying to me, and me and mine find out for certain. Believe it when I say there is not a place in the Free Marches that you will be able to hide from us."

"Offer the hand, but show the blade," the older man chuckled, "I can respect that. I also swear to you here, on the lives of my children that I had nothing to do with the death of your men."

Kendals was pretty good at reading people. She did not sense any lying the old merc's voice. She still felt that this was all some kind of set up, but who would benefit if the mercenary groups went to war with one another. Certainly not the Viscount, not if he wanted the Free Marches. The same argument could be made for the Viscount's son. A rogue noble perhaps could have done it, someone who wanted to bring down the Threnholds and put themselves in the Viscount's seat, a risky proposition sure, but not impossible. It was a good possibility.

Kendals left the parlay with a sense of hope. The Red Iron had not killed her men, but it still brought up the question of who did? As she headed back to their dockside base she tried to deduce who had the most to gain if war broke out between Iron and Oars? Someone who liked pulling strings apparently. She had always preferred a stand up fight to slinking around; apparently her enemies were not so inclined.

Kendals did not like being used. She just couldn't shake the feeling that someone was moving them like pieces across a game board, but who was playing, and what were the rules?

She would have to ask Mal about this later, the young apostate was pretty sharp in these kinds of things. Maybe he would see something she had missed.

_Of course you will have to pull him away from his little noble blossom_, she thought wickedly, _wonder if he's deflowering her yet?_

She could just imagine the blush on the lad's cheeks if she asked him that, still she and Mori had a bet going how long until shy little Mal worked up the nerve to bed her. Mori said never. Kendals was in for six months, and she did not like to lose.

_You could always distract yourself with a certain young Warden._

Kendals smiled hungrily; she enjoyed playing Mori and Alec against each other, not that they needed much prompting.

Between the Red Iron, Mal and his noble girl, and her own little love triangle Kendals could be certain of only one thing.

Life in Kirkwall was certainly not boring.

IOI

The Hightown market was busy today; a trade ship from Orlais had arrived in the night. New luxury trade goods flooded the market drawing many a noble form their estate to peruse the new wares. The nobles wandered from trade stall to trade stall, visiting with friends and discussing news and business of the day. As always bodyguards were everywhere, each watching over their noble patrons, protecting them from everything from pick pockets to assassins. Bodyguard duty was the bread and butter of the mercenary trade; it allowed mercenary bands to retain their numbers while at the same time filling their coffers. Nobles demanded the best in seeing to their own defense.

Young Malcolm Hawke was one of them.

He followed a respectful distance behind her, just enough to allow privacy, but close enough to respond if she needed him. The apostate had come to enjoy the bodyguard life; it was less bloody then traditional mercenary work, though the company was just as ruthless sometimes.

Plus he got to spend his days watching Leandra, and that was a pleasure in itself.

She was a vision today, a creature of pink orlesian silk and lavender lace. Her raven hair was down today, spilling gently down her shoulders ending just over her pert backside.

A sight Malcolm had come to enjoy, those gently swaying hips as she moved.

Occasionally she would glance his way drawing a shy smile to his lips. It felt so strange being around her, with the Oars he was a confident young soldier, he knew his business, and how to get the job done. Leandra, she made him feel like an unsophisticated bumpkin just fallen off the turnip cart. They were worlds apart he knew, but the thought of never seeing her again filled him with dread.

Enough with the heavy thoughts, his gaze wandered back to her raven hair and what rested right below it.

"Enjoying the view serah?"

Malcolm jumped, almost bumping into a man in Templar armor.

"Mori!" he growled, a blush creeping up his neck, the young knight-lieutenant smiled roguishly at him.

"Morning Mal," the Templar offered, shooting a quick glance at Leandra and the gaggle of noble ladies traveling with her.

A pack of young she wolves on the prowl he thought with an amused chuckle.

"One of these days someone is going to put a bell around your neck." Mal growled.

The Templar gave him an amused shrug, "Not my fault you were distracted," the Templar's own gaze fell on Leandra then, "not that I blame you though. Drinks at _the Hanged Man_ later?"

Malcolm nodded, and the Templar left him to his duties, chuckling all the way.

Mal sighed, he had been distracted, and that could be dangerous should someone try and hurt Leandra. This infatuation with the pretty young noble had to end. He was here to work not get caught up in something that would never work.

What could a woman like Leandra see in a man like him? A mercenary, an apostate mage, no he was better off enjoying the moment, then let it pass.

He really needed to let this go, he had work to do.

IOI

Leandra paused to study a roll of sky blue silk, it was beautiful, a dress made of such fine fabric would match her eyes perfectly. She would mention it to Father later; perhaps he would agree to purchase some for her.

Her circle of friends trailed along with her chattering softly about everything from the upcoming Summerday Festival, to which young men they were expecting to ask them to attend the proceeding. Leandra did not have to worry about that, she was expected to attend the Summerday Festival with her fiancé at her side.

Though she could think of one man she would much rather spend that day with.

She looked up and to the left, there he was, he silent guardian. She was happy that Father had offered this position to Malcolm, not only did it keep him a little safer, but it gave her a chance to repay him for saving Gamlen's life.

_Not that that was the only reason she wanted him near her._

Malcolm was much more then she had previously thought; he was a well-educated and refined young man. Many a night as he saw her home they would talk about many things art, literature, and history. He confessed to being a bit of a bookworm in his youth, not that anyone would think that now seeing the hardened young warrior, with his broad shoulders and the air of danger that made her body warm and her heart flutter.

_This is not the way a proper young woman behaves Leandra._

Her Mother's past admonishments would always swim up when she thought about Malcolm. Both she and Gamlen seemed to agree that Malcolm Hawke should not be in her life, but for the first time a new sensation had wormed its way into her heart and mind. It was something she had never experienced before.

_Rebellion._

She had no intention of cutting Malcolm out of her life. She would do anything for her family, she would sell her body, her future, all that she would ever hope to be to save the Amell name, but if they thought for one moment that she would turn her back on this brave and good man, they were wrong.

"Leandra?"

She turned to face the two girls right behind her. Amelie and Dulci DeMontfort were two of her best friends. They shared the same tutors growing up, and were rarely not together at any social functions. Of course that was before her betrothal to Guillaume. Leandra knew that Dulci fancied the young Delauncet, but in this her hands were tied, the deals were finalized the dowry paid.

_There is nothing I can do no matter how much I would want too._

"Yes Amelie," she said.

"The young man your Father hired to watch you?"

"His name is Malcolm. What about him?"

"Well my dear," Amelie whispered suggestively, "I find myself curious on how close he is guarding your body these days."

"Amelie!" Leandra hissed, her face turning a bright scarlet.

"It just seems a shame that such a handsome young blade is unattached."

"Why would she want a common soldier," Dulci pouted, "She has Guillaume."

"I told you Dulci that was not my choice."

"Of course Leandra," Amelie soothed, trying to avoid a clash between her younger sister and their best friend, "I am just curious if your Malcolm is attending the Summerday festival as your escort?"

"I'm not certain of Malcolm's plans for the Festival." Leandra answered, not liking where this conversation was heading at all.

"Really," Amelie said tapping her chin thoughtfully, "Perhaps you could convince him to escort me. He would likely be a delicious distraction after all those boring functions."

Anger and jealousy blossomed in Leandra's chest, she could not believe what she was hearing, did Amelie honestly think she would sell Malcolm like some prize horse for her nightly entertainment?

"I believe Malcolm is in a committed relationship already Amelie," Leandra lied, "A rather dangerous knife fighter from Rivain I believe," Malcolm had told her about Captain Kendals, and how she was like an older sister to him, "I'm afraid she will likely have plans for him for the Festival."

"A shame," Amelie pouted, Leandra would have to politely warn Malcolm about this later, Amelie DeMontfort could be very possessive when she saw something that intrigued her, and tended to grow bored quickly once she had had what she wanted. Hightown was a mess with young men that Amelie had discarded. Leandra had no intention of seeing Mal added to that list. She wanted to keep him safe.

Silks suddenly had no interest for her. She called for Mal mentioning that she felt a little faint. She excused herself from her friends. Between Amelie interest in Malcolm and Dulci's pouting she suddenly wished to be alone.

_Well not entirely alone._

"Are you alright Miss Leandra?" Malcolm asked her.

"I…I will be find Serah," she said smiling wanly, "I think I have had enough sun and high society or one day."

Mal smiled at her, making her whole body warm, _Maker why did he have to do that._

He agreed to escort her home, though part of her did not want to go. All that waited back at the estate was a cage. Her duty to the Amell name. Her betrothal, and now these uncomfortable feelings she had for her brave mage bodyguard.

She had to do something she realized, something before she opened her eyes and her cage was all she would ever know.

Maker help her though, she had no idea what to do.

Not one single idea.


	14. Remains

Chapter 13

Remains

He looked down upon the dead girl, his heart beating rapidly, Maker this should not have happened, he should have been here.

Knight-Lieutenant Morivar Carver could do nothing for the poor girl. The light had faded from her eyes even before he had got here. Not even the most skilled of healers could save her now. This death had not been justice, it had been vengeance, and he had a good idea which blonde haired, blue eyed bitch had been responsible.

I won't let her get away with this. I will bring this to the knight-Commander himself.

A week ago they had received reports of an escape mage from the circle in Starkhaven. A young circle scholar had apparently manipulated a young chantry sister working in the circle to destroy his phylactery; the two had then vanished without a trace. The Knight-Commander in Starkhaven had advised using extreme caution in dealing with this one. He was considered to be one of their circles most skilled practitioners of the entropic arts. It was not blood magic per se, but it fell into a very gray area. The girl herself had been a member of the wealthy DuPuis family of Kirkwall. If the mage had harmed her, they wanted to know, and would want the mage dealt with if he had.

This made the whole situation a volatile one. The Templar order was being pressured from all sides to intervene in this Threnhold business. If a mage murdered a wealthy nobleman's daughter, then he might take his complaints to the Viscount personally. The Threnholds were already starting to grow paranoid about the Templar order; this would likely give the Viscount the excuse he needed to act against them.

They needed to deal with this quickly and quietly.

Then they had got a break.

Yesterday, the mage's father had received word from his son claiming he was living in Kirkwall, and was in need of money. The father a wealthy Orlesian trader had promptly contacted the chantry. He wished for his young son to be returned to the circle unharmed.

Morivar had been gone at the time; otherwise the task of retrieving this escapee would likely have fallen to him. Since he had not been there, the Knight Commander had asked for volunteers to deal with this one.

One knight had gladly taken up this call.

They had set a trap, money was left where the mage had specified, and when the mage had gone to retrieve it, and he had been followed.

The boy had figured that with his phylactery destroyed he had nothing to fear from the Templars. He had been wrong.

Ser Meredith along with several of her cronies had followed the mage to a small farm outside of Kirkwall. It was there, that they had learned something shocking, the mage had not manipulated the young girl through magic, apparently the two had fallen in love, and she helped him escape so they could be together.

Meredith's reaction to such a thing was typical of her. Why use an open palm when a fist is far more satisfying. In her eyes, the girl was a traitor, undeserving of trial, or appeal. She had dealt with her as she saw fit.

Ser Morivar had only just returned to the Gallows when he had learned of this. He had been out with a group of young recruits teaching them the ins and outs of fair Kirkwall. When he learned of Meredith's mission, he had pursued her immediately. One of the recruits, a young red haired knight named Thrask followed him.

They arrived to find the young mage beaten and in irons. Karras and Alrik had the boy secured for his trip back to the Gallows. When the Lieutenant had inquired about the welfare of the mage's companion, the two Templars had chuckled and motioned inside of the small farmstead.

It was here that Ser Mori had found the body.

The former sister had been a beautiful girl in life. Long slender hands, chestnut brown hair, and bright blue eyes, Mori could not shake the feeling he had seen the girl before. Except for the lighter color of her hair she was a dead ringer for young Leandra Amell.

Perhaps the term dead ringer was not appropriate then. It seemed ghoulish somehow.

He would make a point not to tell Mal about this, it would likely scare him.

After all, it sort of scared Ser Mori.

"Ser Carver! Ser Carver!"

The lieutenant turned to find young Thrask his eyes wide with fear.

"On your time son," Mori had soothed, "what is the matter?"

"She is going to kill him Messere," the boy panted, "you have to stop her."

Shit.

He did not have to ask which "her" the young man was referring to, frankly he was not surprised.

IOI

"Kill it Stannard! Go ahead do it!"

Meredith shook her head, the Templar egging her on was Ser Nicolette, a ferret faced young girl with stringy black hair. Word around the Gallows was that she was the illegitimate daughter of the Viscount; she certainly had the looks, not to mention her _Father's_ thirst for blood.

She did not understand.

This was never about feeding bloodlust; it was the Maker's justice, his judgment. Karras had told her the girl might be useful to her plans, but the more Meredith thought about it the less and less she liked the idea.

She was too much like her dear Perrin.

The mage lay helpless in front of her, her blade pressed to his throat. The creature disgusted her. He had not only fled the circle, but he had corrupted an innocent girl in the process. The mage was a living example of why magic could not be tolerated; it destroyed innocence simply by existing.

_Just like it destroyed Amelia._

The mage blubbered weakly, "Where is she?" he asked, "Where is my wife?"

Meredith sneered.

"We sent that little traitor to the Maker's side." Nicolette crowed, "don't worry you will be seeing her soon."

Meredith cursed, the girl needed to learn to keep her mouth shut.

The shock and horror on the dark haired mage's face was all consuming. Shock, fury, and disbelief warred there. Meredith found herself hoping the creature would give himself to the demons in that moment. It would give her an excuse to do her duty.

_The Maker's justice cannot be denied._

"Ser Meredith stand down."

She fought down a curse, of all the knight-lieutenants why did it have to be Carver. The stupid bastard would never accept what had to be done. He was popular in the Gallows; part of her wished that he would side with her. His voice would lend credence to what she had to do.

_He would just have to be dealt with when the time came_.

"You are just in time Knight-Lieutenant;" she said professionally, "this mage is resisting being taken back to the Gallows. I was just about to deal with the matter."

"I'd say you have done enough Stannard," Carver growled.

She looked at him her expression almost hurt, "I am only doing my duty Ser Morivar."

Mori's eyes narrowed dangerously, "And how was killing that girl doing your duty."

The mage sobbed, his face buried in his bound hands.

"She tried to protect this…creature." Meredith said gesturing at the broken young mage, "and even if she did not, she aided a mage in escaping from the Templars. Her fate was sealed the moment she did that."

"She should have been brought before the Knight-Commander."

"And released unpunished to her noble father?" Meredith scoffed.

"Her fate was not yours to decide Stannard."

_Of course it was, only I understand the dangers of magic. If I don't act then who will._

"And who are you to decide that Lieutenant!" Nicolette sneered.

"One more crack like that and I will have your lyrium ration cut Nicolette!"

The young Templar was silent, but the burning hate in her eyes reminded Meredith so much of dear Perrin. Perhaps there was a way that the woman could aid in her plans. It would just have to be handled delicately.

Mori glared at his fellows, there was no place for barbarism in the Templar Order. He turned his attention to the wounded mage. The man's sobs had all but quieted; his dark eyed had a far off look. He seemed to be looking passed Ser Mori, at something farther away, something only he could see.

It was a look that was kind of creeping the Lieutenant out.

He is in shock, Mori thought, nothing more.

"Ser Meredith," he ordered, "gather the men. We are returning this mage to the Gallows."

"Returning!" Meredith spat, "Lieutenant this mage corrupted an innocent girl, he needs to be tested for blood magic, and if guilty he should be executed!"

"That is for the Knight-Commander to decide Meredith, and that is not you."

_Not yet Lieutenant_.

Meredith was tempted to act, Morivar could die here, Thrask too, they could say the mage had gotten loose.

_Not yet, Morivar may yet be useful. His death here would only raise questions. Later, Later, Don't be weak._

Meredith sighed, justice denied, again.

"As you say Lieutenant," Meredith saluting her superior.

Mori watched her for signs of insubordination, proving Stannard had gone overboard here required evidence, and he doubted Alrik, Karras, and Nicolette would be very forthcoming.

_I will just have to watch her more closely, but first your duty takes precedence_ Ser Mori thought.

He turned to the young mage; the poor man had just lost his wife, Morivar should say something.

"Serah Quentin," he said quietly, "I am sorry for your loss, but you should not have run in the first place. Is there anything I can do for you, to see to any arrangements for you, for her?"

The boy Quentin said nothing. He just sat there, staring off into the distance. Ser Morivar hoped that one of the healers in the Gallows could help the disturbed young man.

If only they could help Meredith too, he thought.

The trip back to the gallows was a quiet one. Quentin offered them no resistance. He just sat there, murmuring to himself.

Ser Morivar caught only a few of these words.

"She is not really gone."

"She isn't really."

"I can have her back."

"I'll see you soon love."

"We will be together again soon."

Morivar shook his head sadly, that poor man.

Meredith rode beside him, sulking quietly. Morivar still intended to talk to Guylian about this. He doubted he would do anything serious to Stannard, but she had to learn discipline, discipline and compassion.

He hoped that the healers either in Kirkwall or Starkhaven could help poor Quentin. The loss of a wife so violently could have dire consequences

He hoped that the mage would find some kind of peace.

Any kind.


	15. Summersday

Chapter 14

Summersday

"Sister I do wish you would reconsider this whole thing."

Leandra looked up from her vanity mirror. Gamlen was sitting on her bad looking sullen. It was two days until the Summerday celebration. House Amell was in an uproar what with the preparations now being made for the wedding, even though it was still month away. Father and Mother were excited for Leandra, but all she could do was manage a wan smile or two. Gamlen was not in the mood either, but that was no surprise at all.

He should have been more careful Leandra thought.

Gamlen had been grounded all this week. Father had been forced to after he had caught him sneaking in before dawn. Gamlen had refused to tell Father where he had been. Leandra suspected that he had been out with that tavern girl Mara again, but she was not about to tell Father about that. They had made a deal. Leandra would say nothing about Mara and in return he would say nothing about Malcolm being a mage.

Leandra regarded Gamlen with a surprised look, "Brother I know this betrothal bothers you, but there is really nothing more to be done."

Her brother frowned deeply.

"I'm not talking about the bloody betrothal. I'm talking about that…that… man father hired to watch you?"

"Malcolm?"

"Yes sister, Malcolm, the apostate father hired."

"Gamlen hush!" Leandra said excitedly, bringing her finger to her lips, "Father doesn't know that part."

"But he should. Maker's breath sister, what if he is a blood mage, did you ever think of that? What if he is mind controlling you?"

Leandra gave her brother a troubled frown. How could he even suggest such a thing about Malcolm?

"Brother you shouldn't say such things about Malcolm. He saved your life after all, and besides I doubt Ser Mori would be his friend if he was a blood mage."

Gamlen snorted, "I would not call Ser Carver a very good Templar sister."

Leandra chuckled; a few weeks ago Ser Carver had taken Gamlen for four Sovereigns during a game of wicked grace. After that Gamlen was not very open to seeing the man in a positive light.

As the months had passed Ser Maurevar Carver had become a good sounding board for Leandra, they had spoken a few times in the local cafes in Hightown. She spoke to the young knight of her fears, her responsibilities, and Malcolm.

She probably spoke a little too much about Malcolm to be perfectly honest. Still the Templar never judged her. He could sympathize with her plight.

The Templar Lieutenant it seems had a lot more in common with her that she would have thought. Apparently the Carvers had been a merchant family about fifteen years ago. When the troubles had begun between Kirkwall and Orlais Ser Mori's father had been killed when the Chevaliers put down a demonstration in the Hightown markets. After that the Carver family had never recovered. Lady Carver had tried to keep their family afloat as long as she could, but with mounting debt, and a young lord Threnhold eagerly scooping up businesses at the time, it was not surprising that the woman threw herself off the cliffs one day, leaving her young son a ward in the Chantry. That had been ten years ago. Twelve year old Mori had begun his Templar training quite early. It was not that he was extremely devoted to the chantry. It was simply that he had no other choice.

Lack of choice was something Leandra understood quite well.

She turned to face her little brother. It was strange, though they were only a year apart Gamlen always seemed to be far younger than she. The weight of the Amell name had yet to be cast down upon his shoulders. Leandra envied him a little for that. Plus, in spite of everything she knew that he was likely the only member of their family who cared what she wanted. He could see how as the time of her wedding drew closer that she was becoming increasingly more nervous. The cage that her parents would see her trapped in became clearer and clearer.

Yet, what could she do?

"Just be careful sister," Gamlen said his fists clinching and unclenching nervously, "I do not want to see you get hurt."

Leandra smiled then pulling her brother to his feet.

"My brave brother," she said fondly, "always trying to look out for me."

He tried to remain sullen, but a small smile crept across his features, "It is what brothers are for is it not."

She embraced him then, just as she had done when they were children.

"I will be careful brother. There is no reason for you to worry about me. I'll be fine."

He harrumphed loudly at that, but still returned her hug.

She knew that Gamlen would always try to protect her, it was just a shame he had so much trouble protecting himself.

No matter, she would just have to do the job for both of them.

IOI

"Copper for your thoughts Mal?"

The young apostate looked up from his cards. Ser Mori and Alec sat a crossed from him. It had becoming a bit of a ritual for the tree of them to meet at _The Hanged Man_ for wicked grace every third evening. Most would have felt a little intimidated sitting across from a Templar Lieutenant and a grey warden, and most would be right. Still Mal had become a much better card player in the last few months so the chances of being cleaned out by his friends was becoming a greater and greater rarity.

Not for lack of trying on their parts however, he thought with a slight smile.

"Yes Mori?" he said discarding a serpent card which was quickly snatched up by Alec_, shit._

"I find myself vexed and only you can see me through it." The Templar said with a sly smile.

What is this now Malcolm thought raising an eyebrow.

"He wants to know who you are taking to the Summerday festival in Lowtown." Alec said with a bored sigh.

"Hey," the Templar said with mock hurt, "I was getting to that."

"Well I saved you the trouble." Alec shrugged.

Malcolm's mouth became a tight frown; at first it seemed that none of the Oars would be attending the festival. The problem with the Red Iron made it seem unlikely that Kendals would want her men walking the streets of Lowtown without adequate protection. Of course after the sit down all that had changed, both sides had agreed to stand down until the truth regarding the dead oars could be discovered. The Oars it seemed would be free to engage in revelry. So now a new problem presented itself to Malcolm.

Who was he going to take?

He knew who he wanted to take, but the thought of bringing such a fine lady into Lowtown seemed a bit like putting a silk hat on a pig. She was too good for such a place.

"I haven't decided yet," he replied dismissively, "How about you two."

Knight and warden both looked at each other.

"He is evading the question." Mori said sarcastically,

"I know," Alec agreed, "he must not trust us."

"And I thought we were his friends."

"Guess we were wrong."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. Maker's breath what did they want from him.

"I noticed you two have not answered my question either."

"True," his friends replied in unison.

"Oh what's the matter boys," Mal said mockingly, "Can't decide which one of you is going to ask Kendals."

They both glared at him, apparently not.

Malcolm chuckled.

The competition for the mercenary captain's attention had escalated in the last few months, and Kendals was doing nothing to rein it in. Mal found himself grateful that he had never tried to pursue a relationship with the Oars leader. Yes, she was pretty, beautiful even, but she was just a little too dangerous for his tastes.

_And Leandra was so safe, right._

A smart man would stick to business. A smart man would not pursue the beautiful young noble. He would back off and continue keeping his head down, lest the Templars find him and cut it off.

Mal was starting to doubt just how smart he was.

Mori showed them his hand, bastard had won again. Mal pushed his coin into the center for the Templar to scoop up, so much for getting better at cards.

Alec shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Malcolm had noticed the increasingly uneased status of his friend these past few weeks. There had not been a single darkspawn sighting in months; it seemed that the danger had passed. Yet, Alec remained, Mal was starting to doubt if it had anything to do with Kendals.

Alec was after something.

Mori shuffled the cards as they prepared for another hand.

"The answer to your question is no Mal we have not yet decided which of us will be escorting the lovely Captain to the festival."

"Not that he is without other options, Alec added, "I have been trying to convince are good Templar to ask the pretty blonde I have seen him with in the Gallows recently. She looks like she could be a fun date."

Mori snorted, "I doubt that Stannard would no fun if it walked up to her and bit her."

"So that is her name," the warden replied with a slight smile, "interesting."

"I doubt she would be your type Alec," Mori said to his friend, "I doubt if she is anyone's type."

Mal had heard the name Stannard whispered among the apostate community here in Kirkwall. They said she was a heartless bitch with no mercy at all when it came to mages. They also said that she was building quite the power base within the Templar order. Several young knights had begun to look to her for guidance; some felt it was only a matter of time until she made a play for Commander Guylian job.

Most mages weren't looking forward to that happening.

It was just one more problem. The murder of his fellow Oars, his growing attraction for Leandra, and now a zealot growing more and more powerful in the Gallows it seemed that everything was building towards something Malcolm could not yet see.

Something likely very bad.

"I notice you did not answer our question Mal?"

"That is right I didn't."

Mori gave an exasperated sigh, damn it he needed details, his bet with Kendals still stood and he really did not like to lose.

Fortunately it seemed that he was not alone in this endeavor, whether he realized it or not the Warden finally said something helpful.

"Can I give you a piece of advice Mal friend to friend," Alec said warmly.

"Oh, this should be good, go ahead," the apostate said gamely.

"Though we can see the pit, we cannot avoid it." The warden intoned.

Mori gave him a suspicious look, "What in Andraste's name does that mean?"

"It is qunari," the warden said with a shrug, "I always took it to mean that when you want something, you should see if it is something you really want. Denying yourself is pointless."

"Or maybe it means don't walk toward sodding pits," Mori said drily.

"That is a possibility too," the warden chuckled.

Malcolm considered his friends words. It was true that he should step back and not pursue Leandra any further, but on the other hand if he did nothing Leandra would become his one giant regret. He would spend the rest of his days asking what if?

He needed to make a decision one way or the other.

He took a deep breath, weighed his options, and then made his choice.

He left the table without a second glance, not even asking to be dealt out of the latest hand.

Mori looked at him, a curious look on his face, "Where are you going Mal?" he asked.

"Falling into the pit." The apostate replied as he went out into the midday sun.

Ser Mori and Alec regarded each other curiously, "What was that about the Templar asked the warden."

"Dunno don't care." The other man replied take his cards for the next hand.

The Templar shrugged, whatever Mal had decided they would see the results soon.

Maker help them all.


	16. A Night For Lovers

_Authors note: Dominic here. I caught a mistake in my writing, one of several actually, lol. I have been spelling Carver's name Morivar, while according to DA 2 it was spelled Maurevar. I will be using their spelling from now on and will be making correction to previous chapters soon. This chapter is a bit fluffy, but I felt it was time to move Malcolm and Leandra to the next level. Hope it isn't too sweet for your tastes. Enjoy chapter 15_

Chapter 15

A Night for Lovers

Tap

Leandra opened her eyes, what was that?

Tap

She sat up in bed; she could still hear her parents' party going on downstairs. As usual she had done what was expected of her, she had stood at Mother's side as they had greeted their guests, wealthy nobles all. Everyone it seemed wished to give her their best wishes on her upcoming nuptials. Normally it would have been nice, but now it just seemed to remind her how short her time of freedom was becoming.

Six months, just six months more.

She had felt like she was suffocating, claiming that she was feeling faint she fled to her bedroom, once there she found herself almost on the verge of tears. Maker help her what was she going to do.

Panic quickly gave way to exhaustion, Maker help her she was so weary, weary of pretending, weary of smiling, and above all weary of the fact that she was only doing this all to save her family. She had not even bothered to change out of her party clothes; she just sank unto the bed and slept.

Tap.

There it was again.

She rose from herbed and went to the window. Most of the revelers were drawn to either the market district, or the Viscount's Keep, the street outside of her home was completely empty.

Tap.

Well almost completely empty, a lone figure stood bellow her window throwing pebbles at the window pane.

She threw open the window, who would possibly be doing this?

"Leandra?"

Her heart skipped a beat.

"Malcolm!" she hissed, "Maker what are you doing here?"

"I came to see what you were doing this evening Milady," the young apostate said smiling, "there is a festival going on in case you had not noticed."

"I noticed," she said sadly.

Mal hated to see Leandra like this, such a beautiful girl should not be so melancholy.

"Well um… obviously high society does not appeal to you tonight Milady. Perhaps you would like to seek your fun elsewhere."

She gave him a confused look.

"The celebration in Lowtown is just getting started and I… I wondered if you would like to go…with me?" the look on his face was so hopeful.

It was a bad idea, a very, very bad idea; she still remembered her last little adventure in Lowtown. True she would have Malcolm at her side, but was it truly a safe place for her to be.

_Why not_ a little voice inside her head seemed to say.

Leandra's brow furrowed in thought.

_You have the rest of your life to play it safe. To be the good little nobleman's wife, why not for this one night only let yourself be free and have fun. It may be the last time you will be able to._

Despite all her misgiving, she found herself nodding. Malcolm's smile turned ecstatic.

"Just give me a moment," she promised.

She changed out of her party clothes into something a little more conservative, it was still nice, but would not stick out like a sore thumb in Lowtown. The people in Lowtown would likely be wearing their finest, and this she hoped would be a good proximity of that, and allow her to blend in…

…_And if she could look beautiful for Malcolm as well more the better._

She ran back to the window, the shear sight of her took Mal's breath away, a blue low shoulder top with a plain black skirt, simplistic yes, but on Leandra it made her ravishing.

"So how do we do this?" she asked, "I can't just sneak out the front door."

He gave it some thought, finally he had it.

"Jump."

"Jump?" she asked.

"Yes jump," he replied "I will catch you."

A nervous look crossed her features, did she really dare.

"Trust me," he said warmly.

She found that she did, implicitly.

She jumped.

A low green light surrounded her slowing her descent, it was the first time she had felt Mal use magic on her.

It was…exciting.

Mal grimaced in concentration, force magic was not really his thing, but he knew enough to keep the young girl safe from her second story window down to the street.

The magic released her gently into his arms, the two found themselves staring deep into each other's eyes. For Mal it felt like time had stopped, he wished that he could remain in this moment forever.

"Um…uh," the young apostate stuttered, Maker he was really bad at this, "we should probably get going before someone sees us."

"Yes, right," Leandra said slipping out of his arms, it had taken all her strength not to kiss him in that one moment.

Still the night was still young, she thought with a hint of a smile.

The two slipped quickly and quietly down the stairs to Lowtown, towards the lights and sounds of the festival.

Towards an uncertain evening.

IOI

Streams of red, blue and green light rose from the Gallows, Knight-Commander Guylian had permitted the mages to participate in the night's revelry. Several Templars stood guard, but the young mages responsible for the display were simply trying to outdo each other and had no thought of causing trouble.

Ser Maurevar strode quickly out of the Gallows to the ship waiting to take the few Templars offered the evening off to the city. As a lieutenant he could have easily pulled rank and got a better seat in the boat, but chose not to, wouldn't want the power of his new commission to go to his head after all.

He was surprised to see Meredith there, usually the ice queen volunteered to stay and watch over the mages.

"Ser Meredith," he said with a nod.

"Ser Maurevar," she nodded back.

"Looking forward to the Festival?"

She glared at him.

"I have someone to meet this evening."

"Oh, someone I know?"

"None of your concern… Ser." She snorted as she began to ignore him.

Well at least she called me ser, he thought with a chuckle. He reaffirmed the promise he made to himself to make her smile at least once before he died.

It seemed like an interesting challenge.

IOI

Leandra was stunned.

Lowtown was a place transformed. Brightly colored banners fluttered in the breeze as soldier and commoner alike mingled in the narrow streets. The sense of danger she had felt when she came searching for Gamlen was still there, but it seemed muted somehow.

Malcolm kept his arm around her slender waist as he guided her through the crowd. He waved and smiled to several passers-by. It seemed that he had become a little well known in the last few months.

The closeness of his body was making her giddy, his warmth seemed to wash over her and infuse within her. Then there was his smell, _his wonderful Malcolm smell_, the smell of leather and polish was one she had come to know quite well in the past three months. It filled her senses with a nervous excitement and made her belly flip nervously.

Malcolm smiled contently; it was nice to be here with her, away from Hightown, away from duty. He was happy to just be Malcolm to her and not Serah Hawke.

He bought her a fruit skewer, and they proceeded down the crowded street, she offered him a bite, a bit of the candied fruit ended up stuck on his chin. Laughing lightly she brushed it away with her finger. Her touch felt both hot and cold to the young man.

_If only she had licked it off_ he thought guiltily.

The explosions of light from the Gallows drew their attention, beautiful flashes of color illuminated Kirkwall's night sky.

A truly, magical evening.

IOI

"I have good news love."

Meredith opened her eyes, void take him she was almost asleep. Perrin ran his fingers down the length of her arm. The Viscount's son had been very excited for the last week; she had hoped that a night of passion would loosen his tongue so that she could find a way to turn his plans to her advantage.

So once again she found herself naked in the tyrant's bed, hoping each time that it would be the last.

Once again she had to give herself to this man, some days she was not sure it was worth it.

Then she thought of Amelia and everything was alright.

She had sworn an oath to protect the people of Thedas from magic, and that is what she would do, regardless of what it cost her personally.

"What news my love," she smiled sweetly, her voice dripping with false affection.

The young tyrant smirked with anticipation; it was nice to have someone to gloat with.

"Before the week is out I shall have enough coin to ensure that the nobles stay out of our plans forever."

_Your plans are not mine fool._

"What has happened?" she asked eagerly.

"I have recently had contact with a group of businessmen. In exchange for my guards cooperation they will provide me with enough coin to bribe the noble's support for our plans, thus removing the largest stone in our path to glory."

Meredith's brow furrowed, what kind of business man would have that type of coin?

"The ship arrives from Tevinter the day after tomorrow, it should take them a week to gather the necessary… cargo…once that is done everything will be in readiness. The coin will arrive just before they leave.

_Tevinter! Oh Maker the fool has made a deal with slavers. He would sell Kirkwallers to the servants of the Black Divine._ Meredith's blood boiled part of her wanted to strangle the bastard right then and there.

Yet, here it was the opportunity she had been waiting for, the chance to drive a wedge between Father and son. She would have to be careful of course, her hand must be invisible in this, but if handled just so….

_For you my Amelia, always for you._

The anticipation of her victory fired Meredith's passions; she pulled Perrin down on top of her again. He no doubt thought that her happiness was fueled by his future success.

_Once a fool, always a fool._

A rumble of thunder sounded outside, it was as if the Maker himself had sided with her, agreeing with her plans. Rain began to fall, washing away the grime and heat of the day with it.

One day Meredith would be that rain. She would wash away all those who threatened her home. Noble or Mage it did not matter.

The Maker's justice was coming to fair Kirkwall.

She looked forward to that day.

IOI

Leandra shrieked as the cold rain fell, drenching her and Malcolm. The two ran laughing at their luck for the small apartment he had rented near the entrance to Hightown. He had first purchased this place so that he could be available whenever Leandra required his services, and even he had to admit it was better than sleeping in a hammock on the docks.

The thunderstorm had come out of nowhere.

Malcolm pulled Leandra inside shutting the door behind them. They were both still breathing hard from the race for his door.

So much for their quiet evening in the moonlight.

He lit a candle in the main room, giving him just enough illumination to see her by. Despite being soaked she was grinning happily, her wet hair stuck to her head, the silk top she wore clinging tightly to her body, giving him a perfect view of her.

_Maker_ he thought swallowing hard. He tried not to stare, not to drink in how the water revealed her perfect form, or focus how sensuous the room was in the low light.

"I don't suppose you have towels do you?" she asked smiling nervously.

"I…yes…um let me get you one." He brushed past her in the darkness, sparks of attraction going up his arm where they had touched. He tried to will his heart to stop racing, to focus on anything that was not the bedraggled but beautiful girl standing in his room.

She brushed her water out of her eyes, running her fingers through her hair. Malcolm's room was a bit Spartan, but adequate. A table two chairs and a…she swallowed hard…a bed.

Her fingers were tingling; heat suffused her belly before starting down lower. She was breathing hard and shivering, and it had nothing to do with being cold.

Thunder rumbled again outside, she jumped nervously as she watched Malcolm remove a towel from a cabinet on the wall. She drank in his muscular form as he leaned over and stretched lost in his search for a dry towel. She felt a wicked smile come to her lips.

"Here…um, let me help," He started to dry her wet hair with the towel, his strong callused hands brushing her cheek ever so gently. Maker he was so close, she found herself wanting to be closer.

"I'm sorry about tonight." He laughed nervously, had I known…"

"It was perfect," she said in a husky voice.

Their eyes met, sky blue and deep brown, something passed between the two, something that had been there all along, but was only now awakened.

"Lea," he said with a moan, a moan of pure desire. Maker help him she was so beautiful, it hurt to be so close to her.

She leaned in even closer.

Their lips met for the first time. A fire seemed to explode in both of them. The kiss was short as they tasted each other's passion. The next one was longer, and the next with even more fire.

Malcolm found himself on the floor, Leandra snuggly in his arms as their lips and hands began to explore each other for the first time. Her skin was so soft; it was like nothing he had experienced before. His heart pounded in his chest. How could something be so wonderful and yet so terrifying. He truly had no words.

For Leandra this was a release, for the first time in her life she felt free. No obligation, no duty, no family, she was just Leandra, a young woman from Kirkwall.

A young woman in the arms of the man she loved.

In that moment she knew that she did love him, he had been like nothing she had known before. It had nothing to do with his magic, or his strength. For the first time in her life she felt whole. Malcolm completed her. It was such an amazing thing.

Mal growled hungrily, lost in his desire for her. It was then that she took the lead. She pulled away and rose, then helped him to his feet. She took him by the hand and brought him to the bed, and there they help each other undress.

She knew this may not last, duty may part them. Him to his work and she to her family, but tonight that did not matter. Tonight belonged to them, as it would for the rest of their lives.

She pulled him down on top of her, losing herself to the sensations that were theirs and theirs alone.

It was in this place that both found what they were looking for, a defense against the cold harsh world around them.

For the first time, they were warm.


	17. The Maker's left Hand

_I apologize for the wait. Chant of Darkness has been taking up much of my time. Little spoiler for DA 2 dlc Legacy if you have not played it yet. Still I am glad to see my work is appreciated._

Chapter 16

The Maker's Left Hand

"I need you Ser Maurevar."

They faced each other in the Gallows Training Ring, his long sword versus her great sword. It was not the first time the two knights had sparred, but it seemed that she never failed to surprise him.

"Why Stannard," he said smirking, "Never knew you to be so brazen."

Her icy glare of doom made him hesitate, then she attacked. Her blade was flawless, she moved with a grace unusual in someone wearing heavy plate, but he was equally skilled in his defense. Meredith had never landed a successful blow on Maurevar in any of their training sessions.

"I have need of your skills, keep your mind out of the gutter." She glared.

He shrugged, Stannard was not the type of woman to ask for help. If she was asking now then it was something she could not deal with on her own.

"I will help if I can sister," he replied respectfully.

She nodded, pleased with his answer.

"A contact of mine has informed me of a group of Tevinter slavers working on the wounded coast. Such scum should not be allowed to operate so close to our fair city. I require your aid in dealing with them."

Maurevar considered her words, they were troubling, and he had no use for slavers and even less for Tevinters.

"Have you spoken with the city guard?"

Meredith snorted, "Do you think they do not know? Even if they don't they would likely hit the slavers up for a bribe rather than do anything constructive about it."

Mori knew the truth in that, Perrin Threnhold cared only for coin and his own advancement. It was doubtful he would act in the interests of the citizenry.

"I am surprised you have not done anything about this yourself Stannard. Guylian would not be grudge such actions, and I'm certain between Karras and Alrik you could gather enough knights to deal with the slavers."

"Why all the questions?" she growled, her eye flashing angrily.

_Well that hit a nerve_, he thought.

"I am merely curious sister," he said trying to appease her, "You are not above taking the initiative when you need to. It is one of the traits we all admire about you."

His complement threw her for a moment. She had little respect for Carver. He was not a true believer like herself. She had always considered him one of the knights who would be swept away with Guylian when she took command.

Maybe she should reconsider this?

"The matter is complicated," she admitted, "The source of this information believes that I support similar views. If I acted as my conscience demanded, I would be revealed as someone who does not."

"And you would lose a valuable source of information." Carver added.

She nodded, pleased that he understood.

"I know you Ser Maurevar. I know you have friends in the less then savory elements within our city. I am certain that Guylian would reward them handsomely for the removal of a group of slavers."

Mori considered this, the Knight-Commander would definitely approve, plus Kendals would not mind the extra work. He would not be able to leave the Gallows today, but tomorrow he could take the matter to the Oars beautiful Captain and see what could be done.

"How long do we have to deal with this vermin?" He asked his sister Templar.

"My sources say they will be here for at least a week. You should be able to deal with them by then." Meredith's smile turned down right cruel, "I trust you won't be arresting these bastards?"

"No," Mori answered, "I see no reason to trouble the Magistrates of Kirkwall with Tevinter scum. They are here illegally, slavery in itself is illegal in the Free Marches. I don't think anyone will miss them."

_Excellent_, Meredith thought, _Maurevar will destroy my dear Perrin's deal, and knowing Maurevar he will use those Crimson Oar friends of his. I can spin to Perrin that his Father was likely involved being that it was his favorites who were responsible. Any blame the Templars face will be directed at Knight Commander Guylian. I shall remain clean in my Perrin's eyes. It was so deliciously perfect._

She bowed gratefully to her brother Templar. "You have my thanks in this Ser Maurevar. All of Kirkwall will thank you as well."

He returned the bow, but in that moment she swept his leg out from under him, he fell to the ground with a clatter. He looked up dazed to see her sword in his face.

He had forgotten that they were still sparring.

"I think I win Ser Maurevar," she said with relish.

Still no smile he thought, damn.

Well he would see it eventually.

He was sure of it.

IOI

He strode into _The Hanged Man_ a day later. From the armor mixed in with the regular patrons he could assume safely that the Oars were between jobs at the moment.

Good, that meant they would be looking for work, he hoped.

He spotted Kendals at the bar, chatting quietly with Alec. The Grey Warden had her complete and undivided attention, his finger tracing lazy circles on the captain's lovely back.

A wave of irritation washed over the Templar, he had spent most of Summerday with Kendals, and much of the evening. True she had left to tend to some business before things could get really interesting, still he had hoped for something more.

_Look at you the great Ser Maurevar_, a little voice in the back of his head chided, _pining over a woman like an ill-educated peasant boy._

He knew it was stupid, as a Templar there was likely no future for him and the woman. He was forever wed to the Chantry; lyrium was a tighter bond then love. If he left the order the craving would likely destroy him. He had no interest in experiencing lyrium withdrawal for himself.

It was unfortunate.

He walked up to the bar an ordered a drink, he had to remember why he had come here: slavers, Kirkwall, duty all that kind of shit.

"Morning Mori," Kendals said pleasantly.

"Morning," he nodded, "seen Mal?"

"Not often lately," she said with sly smile, "Amell has been occupying his time. He's working. You might find him at his apartment though."

Mori nodded, it was better that Mal was here when he made the offer to Kendals. He could…

Wait a tick…

"I thought you said he was working?" he asked her.

Kendals nodded.

"I suspect he is with Miss Amell right now." Alec said blandly. Mori was confused.

"What is Miss Leandra doing at Mal's apartment? There are other places…in…oh…Oh!"

Alec chuckled, "little slow on the uptake this morning Mori?"

"Well shit." Mori said with a laugh, "never figured the boy had it in him."

"Actually it is probably in her." Alec snickered crudely, "Anyway… pay up Templar." He said holding out his hand.

"Why?" Mori asked defensively.

"The bet, I won, pay up."

"You let him in on our bet?" Maurevar asked Kendals, the woman shrugged apologetically.

"I had three months." The warden said smiling.

Mori's eyes turned cold, "Is that why you encouraged Mal the other night?"

"Part of the reason," the warden shrugged.

_Son of a bitch_

"I hate you," the Templar growled handing the other man a sovereign; "I suppose your commander would object to me killing you right now?"

"Probably," the young warden agreed.

"Now Mori don't be like that," Kendals swooped around the table, placing her arm around the Templars neck. "We should be happy for Mal."

Mori agreed, but part of him was concerned for his friend as well.

_When Lord Amell finds out he is not going to be a very happy man._

For the moment he pushed thoughts of Mal and Leandra out of his head. He was here on business after all.

"Looking for work Kendals?" he asked the mercenary Captain.

"Always." She said with a smirk.

"There are some slavers that need clearing out, and I think you and yours are just what Kirkwall needs."

IOI

Alec made his way back to the Oars base, a bit of spring in his step, and a smile on his face.

Everything was going quite well here in Kirkwall. He continued his search for another mage, while at the same time enjoying pleasant company. With luck one of the others had already found a mage, and they were on route to the Vinmark Mountains, at least he hoped that was the case. He would be happy if his own search turned out to be unnecessary.

He went down one of the alleys in Lowtown, it was here that the Grey Wardens kept a dead drop, this way they could exchange messages in private without alarming the guard and nobility. He had hoped that any information left here would contain good news regarding the Vinmark situation.

A lone man stood before the dead drop, even hooded and cloak Alec recognized him immediately, not by his look, but by the humming in his blood.

_The man was a fellow Warden and not just that…_

"Commander Larius, ser." He said snapping off a quick salute.

"Greetings Alec," the Commander of the Grey for the Free Marches nodded, "is there some place we can talk privately?"

Alec nodded gesturing for his fellow warden to follow. He led him to a small room he had rented when he first entered Kirkwall. The young warden had made no mention of it to his new friends because it gave him a place where he could tend to warden business outside of the public eye.

The Commander began speaking almost before the door had closed behind them.

"I fear we are running out of time Alec," the Commander said removing his hood revealing a face only a year or two older than his own. Larius had been inducted into the order at sixteen, his skill and accomplishments far acceding his young age. He had been the previous commander's protégé, so it had been no surprising when he had assumed command.

Alec looked nervous, "He stirs then, Cory…"

Larius glared at him.

"Do not say his name." the commander chided.

It was an unspoken rule in the order; no one was to know about the base in the Vinmark Mountains, or what the wardens had hidden there.

"The seals magic has begun to fail. Darkspawn are moving in numbers toward the prison."

"They hear his call?"

"As do we," Larius snarled, "I have been forced to evacuate the prison until we can find a mage to reinforce the seals. I read your last report. There is a mage here we can use yes?"

"I have become acquainted with a mage here yes, but…"

"He must be brought, soon."

Alec blanched, "But commander."

"Is this a problem Alec?"

The younger man flinched under his superior's gaze, how best to explain this, "he is my friend I can't ask him to… what of the others Calamahr and Aegeir surely they have…"

"They have failed, and we are out of time."

"Ser forgive me for saying so, but I know Malcolm, he will never agree to this."

"Then we must give him no choice."

"Ser?"

"I understand your trepidation Alec, but this is for the good of all of Thedas. The beast must not awaken."

"I know ser, but how?"

The Warden Commander thought for a moment.

"Find something he cares about, then squeeze until he cooperates. Our time grows shorter by the day. If the creature awakens, all of the Free Marches will be at risk. We are out of options.

Alec shook his head. He knew his duty, and understood what the Commander was asking of him.

He was asking him to betray his friend.

Leandra would be the easiest lever to pull, but Alec was not prepared to use it yet, no, he had to make Mal's situation so tenuous that he would have to seek to leave Kirkwall. It would not be difficult, but it would hurt his friend deeply.

Malcolm Hawke's life against all the lives in Thedas, Alec had never had a choice in that.

A plan began to take root in the Warden's mind, it was cruel and devious, but it would work. He had spent enough time around Mal in the last few months to know what levers to pull to motivate the young apostate. He would have to use them now.

One day perhaps Mal would be able to forgive him, and on that day Alec may just be able to forgive himself as well.

**Review please. I would be very grateful!**


	18. Decisions

**Author's note: I'm back. It took a while to break through some writer's block where this story was concerned; it will be updated slowly, but surely. I have a lot of irons in the fire right now. Enjoy chapter 17!**

Chapter 17

Decisions

She had not told him yet.

The last few days had been wonderful, far beyond anything she could have imagined. Her life had become so confining recently, moments until the door of the cage slammed shut forever passed with lightning speed. She felt like she couldn't breathe.

The only escape she found was when she was with Malcolm, he did not judge her, she was simply a beautiful girl on his arm, or in his bed.

When she was with Malcolm she was free.

They were in bed now, naked in each other's arms, at first it had been easy to justify this. It was a dalliance, a fling… nothing more. When she married Guillaume it would end, she would settle down and be the perfect little wife for her new husband.

_Did it have to end?_

She knew that her betrothed was not being celibate. She had heard her Father discussing this with her Mother. Guillaume was doing his best to be discreet, but her Father was angry that he was not remaining loyal to his innocent daughter.

She was not as _innocent_ as he thought however, so maybe Guillaume had the right idea.

_See is in engaging in this relationship with Mal really so bad then?_

Leandra frowned.

Malcolm deserved more than to be her plaything. She loved him, this was not simply a game to slake her lusts, but if she told her family about her feelings, that she would choose love over duty?

Her family would never forgive her for that. An Amell did her duty, without this marriage the family would falter. Generations of power and prestige here in Kirkwall would end.

She could not do that, not to her parents, not to Gamlen. She needed to marry Guillaume to ensure the future of her family.

She needed to tell Malcolm the truth.

How would he react when he heard about her betrothal? Would he be angry with her? Would he believe that she had been lying to him, leading him on all this time?

Would he hate her for it?

The thought of Malcolm hating her filled her with dread. If he turned away from her in anger, her heart would be beyond broken, it would be destroyed.

But his heart would have to be broken, she could not marry and carry on with him like this, he deserved to have a woman who would be his and his alone.

Leandra wished she had the strength to be that woman.

She found herself staring into his handsome face, he looked so young as he slept before her, the stress of his life as a mercenary, the fear of the Templars, these things were not visible as he slept. He had become so dear to her.

Why had this happened? Why had this wonderful, gentle, good man fallen into her life? It had been easier before, to view her marriage as a duty, to walk into it with her head high, as she did what was expected of her. Now…

Now she was not so sure.

"Are you alright love?"

Malcolm's eyes opened, she smiled into his dear face, his sweet eyes, he ran his fingers gently down her back, Leandra sighed, enjoying the feeling, the tingly warmth, as it spread out along her body.

That was another thing; Malcolm seemed to always know what she needed. It seemed that sometimes they were of the same mind. She had tried to talk to Guillaume, but even though they had grown up in the same world, his views seemed entirely alien to her. His life was still all about duty, his role when his father passed, and what would be expected of them once they were married.

Leandra shivered, she would gladly follow her heart if she could.

_Guillaume would not understand that._

She began to kiss Mal, gently at first, but more passionate as their desires began to flare. Malcolm had become an itch to her, that she could not help, but scratch.

This was not just lust, it was desire, she desired him so very much.

Fortunately he was the stronger of the two.

It was he that broke the kiss, passion darkened his brown eyes, as he resisted the arousal he was feeling.

"I should get you home," he panted, "Kendals has a job for us, something out on the wounded coast."

"Will you be gone long," she asked?

"Hard to say," He admitted, "It is something for Mori I know little more than that. Hopefully we will be back in a week or so."

Leandra fought down her fear, she worried for Malcolm's safety on these "jobs." She knew that Kendals was a talented commander, but still the thought of Malcolm walking into danger filled her with dread.

_This is his life you silly girl_, her conscience chided, _he has to earn a living after all. It is not like he just sits in a mansion in Hightown all day._

The thought made her suddenly self-conscious.

She needed to tell Malcolm about the betrothal, he deserved to know the truth. That she needed to do this for the sake of her family. It was no different than the dangerous jobs that Kendals had him perform.

But it would hurt him she knew; it would hurt him a lot.

When he comes back, she thought, I will tell him when he comes back.

She kissed him lightly on the nose, and rose from his bed. He sat there for a moment watching her as she dressed. It was strange, this did not bother her, it was after all not like he had seen everything there was to see about her.

It was a degree of comfort she was unfamiliar with, after her guarded life back home.

Part of her longed to have this kind of freedom.

That frightened her.

He dressed quickly after, a quick wash of his face and hair, changing quickly into his armor and gathering up his weapons. She heard him whisper a spell under his breath; it was a minor one he assured her, A Templar would have to be standing right outside the door to detect it.

Still she worried for his safety; she had no desire to see her Mal locked up in the Gallows.

In that place she would likely never see him again.

The spell allowed them not to be seen, if anyone noticed them all they would see would be a shimmering blur, the kind of thing you would see on a hot day.

He opened the door just enough for them to slip out of his small apartment. Then they were off.

They moved quickly down the streets of Lowtown, towards the great staircase that led up to the mansions on the cliffs. This part always excited Leandra, the risk, the danger. Malcolm's life was so different from hers.

He was unlike any man she had ever known.

He dropped the spell under a shadowy arch near the gates to the city, as far as her parents had been concerned, he had escorted her to a picnic with some of her friends outside the city.

Her friends would not tell on them, this was an old excuse after all. A chance to be with their various lovers without alerting their parents.

Leandra had used to roll her eyes at her friends when they used that excuse, now she had come to understand its value.

He escorted her up to the door of her mansion. She curtsied to him in thanks as he gave her a small bow waiting to be dismissed as a good servant should.

This felt so wrong to her, she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him goodbye, but that could not be…not here…not in Hightown.

She knew her Father would be furious with her when he found out about her and Malcolm. She was not sure what he would do to the poor boy.

She would protect him from that; she would fight for him tooth and nail.

She watched him as he headed back to ward Lowtown and the docks. The icy fingers of fear clenched her heart. What if he did not come back? What if he was hurt?

What if he fell?

She did her best to push these concerns out of her mind. She plastered on her fake smile of indifference.

She stepped back inside her gilded cage. She became Leandra Amell again.

Maker save her.


End file.
